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CRIMINAL  CALENDAR^ 


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TO  THE 

YOUTH  OF  AMERICA ; 

’  *•  ’  'J  A.  •  •k^V-  '  M  "  ’  '.v  S*  ••".£■*  Hr 

***»ift.  /..  .  .  2. . ..  '  -  ''-*v  ■  ‘  y  f  *.'*••'.  T-  ‘  '  *  * .  -  •  '• 

BEING  AN  ACCOUNT  OP  T  E  MOST  HOU.P.D, 

MURDERS,  PIRACES,  H:  .  /. ,;  :0  >£§j 


"v-7^‘&c,  fee. 


COMPILE?  F  .am  i  IE  B£S  f  AUTHORITIEI.. 

HENRY-  St,  CLAIR. 


WITH  FIFTEEN  ENGRAVINGS. 


*********  a  Wither^  Murder, 
(Alarmed  by  lii3  sentinel  the  Wolf, 


With  Targuin’s  ravishing  strides,  towards  his  dee-gn..'  ■ 
Moves  like  a  Ghost.”~-5via&ysare. 


BOSTON- 

PE1NTED  AND  TUBLISHl.  ;  BY  CH\RUES  tJAVLOS©. 

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Sterling  shooting  Gen. 


THE 


UNITED  STATES 

CRIMINAL  CALENDAR: 

OR 

an  atofttl  SEIavutng 

TO  THE 

YOUTH  OF  AMERICA; 

BEING  AN  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  MOST  HORRID 

MURDERS,  PIRACES,  HIGHWAY  ROBBERIES,  &c.  &c. 


COMPILED  FROM  THE  BEST  AUTHORITIES, 

BY  HENRY  St.  CLAIR. 


WITH  FIFTEEN  ENGRAVINGS. 


*  *  *  *  * 


*  “  Wither’d  Murder, 
Alarmed  by  his  sentinel  the  Wolf, 

in _ i _ «  * _  _ \  _ _ i a. 


(A 

W 


hose  howl ’s  his  watch,)  thus  with  his  stealthy  pace, 
With  Tarquin’s  ravishing  strides,  towards  his  design, 
Moves  like  a  Ghost.” — Shakspeare. 


ftlOSTOir  COLLEGE  LIBRAS^— 
CHF8TNUT  HILL,  MASS? OSTON: 


PRINTED  AND  PUBLISHED  BY  CHARLES  GAYLORD. 

1833. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1831, 

by  CHARLES  GAYLORD. 

in  the  Clerk’s  office  of  the  District  Court  of  Massachusetts. 


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PREFACE. 


There  is  a  propensity  in  man  to  take  pleasure  in  the 
sight  or  relation  of  human  sin  and  suffering.  Thousands 
flock  to  the  execution  of  a  criminal,  and  the  history  of  his 
life,  however  dull  and  uninteresting,  is  sought  and  read  with 
avidity.  No  part  of  a  newspaper  excites  so  much  attention 
as  the  record  of  crime  and  calamity.  Some  have  pronoun¬ 
ced  this  curiosity  a  depraved  appetite:  we  hold  the  contrary. 
It  is  almost  universal  and  therefore  natural.  It  is  the  object 
of  this  work  to  gratify  this  feeling  in  the  manner  the  most 
advantageous  to  the  public. 

The  pamphlets  purporting  to  give  accounts  of  noted  mal¬ 
efactors  are  usually  ill  written,  unworthy  of  credit,  and  of 
bad  moral  tendency.  They  exhibit  the  convict  in  the  most 
favorable  light,  enlarge  upon  the  good  qualities  he  may 
possess  and  rather  solicit  sympathy  for  his  fate  than  abhor¬ 
rence  for  his  crimes.  The  author,  or  rather  compiler  of  this 
work  proposes  to  follow  a  different  plan.  He  gives  the  history 
only  of  such  robbers,  pirates,  &c.  as  have  been  eminent  in 
their  professions.  Of  those  whose  lives  and  deeds  have 
little  interest  he  has  nothing  to  say.  In  each  case  he  ha.* 
carefully  collated  different  authorities  and  given  either  their 
result  in  the  aggregate,  or  all  of  them  severally.  Where 
there  is  a  want  of  information  he  has  left  a  blank  rather 
than  subtract  from  the  integrity  of  the  volume  by  invention. 
He  believes  he  speaks  of  each  of  his  subjects  as  the  person 
deserves,  neither  aggravating  nor  extenuating  his  offences 
or  doing  injustice  to  the  individual  or  the  public. 

He  has  been  told  that  a  work  of  this  kind  will  be  a  public 
injury,  but  does  not  believe  it.  It  cannot  be  that  holding 
sin  up  to  abhorrence  will  corrupt  any  one.  At  any  rate, 
people  will  indulge  in  reading  such  matter,  whether  this 
volume  is  published  or  not,  and  it  is  certainly  better  that  it 
should  be  presented  in  the  least  exceptionable  form  possible. 

The  United  States  Criminal  Calender  is  necessarily  im¬ 
perfect.  Should  its  sale  warrant  the  expense  a  supplement 
will  be  forthcoming 


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CONTENTS. 


William  Schooler,  (murderer.)  . 

• 

page  9 

William  Franklin,  (murderer.)  . 

• 

.  11 

The  Salem  Witchcraft,  .  . 

♦ 

.  14 

Robert  Kidd,  (pirate.)  . 

• 

.  29 

Capt.  Samuel  Bellamy,  (pirate.) 

• 

.  39 

William  Fly,  (pirate.) 

• 

.  45 

Jason  Fairbanks,  (murderer.) 

• 

.  51 

Samuel  Green,  (murderer.) 

• 

.  62 

Charles  Marchant  and  Sylvester  Colson,  (pirates.) 

.  76 

Daniel  Davis  Farmer,  (murderer.) 

• 

.  85 

Henry  Phillips,  (murderer.) 

• 

.  89 

John  Williams,  (pirate.)  .... 

• 

.  82 

Francis  Frederick,  (pirate.) 

• 

.  99 

John  Peterson  Rog,  (pirate.)  . 

• 

.  100 

Peter  Peterson,  alias  Miles  Peterson, 

otherwise 

Miles  Peterson  Fogelgren,  (pirate.)  . 

• 

.  101 

Michael  Martin,  (highway  robber.) 

• 

.  114 

Stephen  Merril  Clark,  (hung  for  arson.) 

» 

• 

.  148 

Samuel  Tully,  (pirate.)  .... 

• 

.  154 

Michael  Powers,  (murderer.) 

• 

.  169 

Alpheus  Livermore  and  Samuel  Angier;  for  the  murder 

of  Nicholas  Crevay,  an  Indian,  (murderers.)  .  177 
Moses  Adams,  high  sheriff  of  the  County  of  Hancock 

(charged  with  murder.) . 180 


Till 


CONTENTS. 


James  Teed  and  David  Dunning,  (murderers.) 

.  .  185 

George  Coombs,  (homicide.) 

.  198 

William  Bevans,  (homicide.) 

✓  .  • 

.  200 

Stephen  and  Jesse  Boom,  (charged  with  murder.)  .  202 

Amos  Furnald,  (manslaughter.)  . 

.  213 

Elijah  P.  Goodrich,  commonly  called  Major  Goodrich, 

(perjurer.)  . . 

.  .  218 

Daniel  H.  Corey,  (madman.) 

.  226 

Charles  F.  Clark,  (madman.) 

.  .  229 

Mutiny  on  board  the  Ship  Globe,. 

.  .  233 

James  Porter,  (highwayman.) 

.  244 

John  Francis  Knapp  and  Joseph  Jenkins 

Knapp, 

(murderers.)  .... 

.  252 

John  Van  Alstine,  (murderer.) 

.  261 

Edward  Tinker,  (murderer.) 

.  267 

Robert  H.  Sterling,  (homicide.)  . 

.  270 

The  Harpes,  (murderers.) 

.  277 

Jeroboam  0.  Beauchamp,  (murderer.) 

.  284 

Charles  Gibbs,  otherwise  James  D.  Jeffers,  and 

Thomas 

I.  Wansley,  (pirates.) 

.  310 

Jesse  Strang,  (murderer.)  .... 

.  329 

George  Swearingen,  (murderer.) 

.  338 

Seth  Hudson  and  Joshua  Howe,  (forgers.)  .  .  355 


THE 


CRIMINAL  CALENDAR. 


WILLIAM  SCHOOLER. 

We  have  no  account  of  the  birth  or  early  adventures  of  this 
person,  farther  than  that  he  was  an  Englishman  by  birth,  and 
a  vintner  by  trade.  By  his  own  account  it  appears,  that  he 
was  a  resident,  in  the  first  part  of  his  life,  of  the  city  of  Lon¬ 
don,  and  that  he  was  a  very  idle,  debauched  person.  He  was 
married  to  a  handsome,  exemplary  woman,  but  this  did  not  pre¬ 
vent  him  from  the  criminal  indulgence  of  his  passions;  as,  ac¬ 
cording  to  his  subsequent  confessions,  he  associated  habitu¬ 
ally  with  women  of  bad  character. 

Having  wounded  a  man  in  a  duel,  he  fled  to  Holland,  to  es¬ 
cape  the  pains  of  law,  leaving  his  wife  behind  him,  in  Eng¬ 
land,  and  thence  came  to  New  England  ;  at  what  precise  date 
is  unknown.  Here  he  lived  on  the  river  Merrimac,  with 
another  man,  in  such  a  way  as  gave  great  offence  and  scandal 
to  our  pious  ancestors. 

In  the  year  sixteen  hundred  and  thirty-six,  he  was  hired  as 
a  guide,  from  Newbury  to  the  Pascataquack,  by  a  servant 
girl  named  Mary  Sholy.  He  engaged  to  perform  this  ser¬ 
vice  for  fifteen  shillings.  Two  days  after  their  departure,  he 
returned,  and  on  being  asked  the  reason  why  he  came  back 
so  soon,  replied,  that  he  had  conducted  her  to  within  two  or 
three  miles  of  Pascatquack,  where  she  had  stopped,  and 
would  go  no  farther.  As  she  did  not  appear,  he  was  exam¬ 
ined  before  the  magistrates  of  Ipswich,  for  her  murder,  but  as 
no  proof  was  adduced  against  him,  he  was  discharged. 

About  a  year  after,  he  was  draughted  to  march  against  the 
Pequods,  who  were  then  up  in  arms.  This  requisition  to  serve 
in  the  militia  he  deemed  an  oppression  ;  which  opinion  broke 
out  in  mutinous  and  disorderly  speeches.  For  this,  the  Gov- 

1* 


•f 


10 


WILLIAM  SCHOOLER. 


ernor  issued  a  warrant  for  his  apprehension;  and  when  he 
was  accordingly  apprehended,  he  supposed  it  was  for  the  mur¬ 
der  of  Mary  Sholy,  and  spoke  to  that  effect.  This  revived 
the  suspicions  against  him,  and  he  was  arraigned  a  second  time. 
Several  witnesses  appeared  against  him,  the  substance  of 
whose  testimony  was  as  follows: 

That  he  had  lived  a  vicious  life,  and  now  conducted  like  an 
atheist : 

That  he  had  sought  Mary  Sholy,  and  had  undertaken  to 
guide  her  to  a  place  where  he  had  never  been  himself: 

That,  when  he  crossed  the  Merrimack,  he  had  landed  in  a 
place  three  miles  from  the  usual  road,  from  whence  it  was 
hardly  possible  that  she  should  find  the  said  road. 

That,  in  describing  a  house  on  the  road,  his  relation  was 
incorrect  as  to  its  situation: 

That  having  (as  he  said)  conducted  Mary  Sholy  to  within 
two  or  three  miles  of  Swanscot,  where  he  left  her,  he  had  not 
been  to  Swanscot  to  give  information  where  she  was: 

That  he  had  not  staid  with  her  that  night,  to  protect  her: 

That,  on  his  return  home,  he  had  not  spoken  of  Mary  Sho¬ 
ly,  till  questioned;  that  she  had  agreed  to  give  him  but  seven 
shillings  on  his  arrival,  and  that  yet  he  had  returned  with  ten 
shillings,  though  he  had  no  money  with  him  when  he  started: 

That  on  his  return,  there  was  blood  on  his  hat: 

That  he  had  a  scratch  on  his  nose,  which  he  had  explained 
to  a  neighbour  by  saying  that  it  was  made  by  a  bramble, 
which,  from  its  size,  could  not  be: 

That,  being  asked  by  a  rriagistrate  at  Ipswich  to  account 
for  this  circumstance,  he  had  told  a  different  story: 

That  the  body  of  Mary  Sholy  had  been  found,  six  months 
after  her  disappearance,  by  an  Indian,  about  three  miles  from 
the  place  where  Schooler  said  he  had  left  her,  with  her  clothes 
in  a  heap  beside  her: 

That  he  said  that  soon  after  he  left  her  he  had  met  with  a 
bear,  and  thought  that  the  bear  might  kill  her;  yet  did  not  go 
back  to  her  assistance: 

That,  after  his  apprehension,  he  had  escaped  from  prison, 
and  had  hidden  himself  in  a  secluded  place,  near  Powder- 
Horn  Hill. 

He  said  in  his  defence,  that  the  blood  on  his  hat  was  that 
of  a  pigeon  he  had  killed,  and  that  after  his  escape  from  pris¬ 
on,  he  had  been  compelled  to  return  by  an  unaccountable  im¬ 
pulse.  On  the  above  evidence,  which  in  our  day  would  not 
be  sufficient  to  prove  a  petty  larceny,  he  was  convicted  of 


WILLIAM  FRANKLIN. 


11 


murder.  From  the  testimony  it  s^lms  that  it  w  as  not  proved 
that  any  murder  had  been  committed,  far  less  that  it  was  com¬ 
mitted  by  Schooler.  In  modern  times,  to  prove  a  delinquen¬ 
cy,  it  is  thought  essential  that  time,  place,  and  circumstance 
should  be  specified.  Our  ancestors  were  not  so  scrupulous, 
and  Schooler  was  condemned  to  death,  though  several  cler¬ 
gymen,  and  others,  thought  that  the  testimony  ought  not  to 
affect  his  life. 

He  was  of  the  same  opinion  himself,  but  the  court  thought 
otherwise.  They  decided  that  a  man  who  should  take  charge 
of  a  helpless  woman,  and  then  leave  her  to  perishj  when  he 
might  do  otherwise,  ought  to  die,  and,  perhaps,  in  this  view  of 
the  case,  they  were  right.  He  was  hanged  accordingly,  at 
Boston,  denying  the  murder  to  the  last. 


WILLIAM  FRANKLIN. 

It  only  appears  from  the  accounts  of  this  man  that  he  was 
a  resident  of  some  place  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  Boston, 
and  that  he  had  been  a  member  of  the  church  of  Roxbury, 
from  which  he  was  excommunicated.  The  events  of  his  life, 
previous  to  the  commission  of  the  offence  for  which  he  laid  it 
down,  have  passed  into  oblivion. 

In  the  year  1644,  he  took  to  apprentice  Nathaniel  Sewell, 
a  young  pauper  who  had  been  sent  from  England.  This  boy 
had  the  scurvy,  and  was  very  offensive  in  his  person.  Frank¬ 
lin  treated  him  with  small  consideration,  and  chastised  him  un¬ 
mercifully  for  trifling  faults.  He  was  also  in  the  habit  of  hang¬ 
ing  him  up  in  his  chimney,  for  anything  and  everything. 

The  boy  fell  sick,  even  unto  death,  whether  from  rigorous 
treatment  or  some  natural  cause  we  are  unable  to  say. 

Finding  the  boy  of  no  use  to  him,  he  determined  to  return 
him  to  the  magistrates  of  Bpston,  from  whom,  it  seems,  he 
had  received  him.  His  place  of  residence  was  five  miles  from 
Boston,  and  to  convey  the  lad  this  distance,  he  tied  him,  though 
very  ill  and  weak,  upon  a  horse,  and  set  off  with  him.  The 
boy  was  unable  to  sit  upright,  and  frequently  begged  for  wa¬ 
ter,  but  his  inhuman  master  would  give  him  none,  though  they 


12 


WILLIAM  FRANKLIN. 


passed  very  near  it  at  several  places.  Nathaniel  Sewell  died 
a  few  hours  after  he  reached  Boston. 

William  Franklin  was  then  brought  before  the  Quarter 
Court  on  a  charge  of  murder.  The  facts  were  proved,  as 
above  related,  but  doubts  existed  whether  they  inferred  blood 
guiltiness.  It  was  argued  that  it  did  not  appear  that  Franklin 
had  intended  to  injure,  but  only  to  reform  his  servant,  and  that 
the  treatment  which  had  caused  his  death  occurred  in  the 
pursuit  of  a  lawful  purpose;  viz,  in  bringing  Sewell  before  the 
magistrate;  whereas,  the  act  and  intention  must  both  be  evil, 
to  constitute  murder. 

To  this  it  was  answered,  that  Sewell  had  been  brought  to 
his  end  by  degrees,  by  a  constant  course  of  cruelty,  of  which 
the  last  act  was  but  the  consummation.  It  was  said  that  this 
act  was  performed  at  a  time  when  the  boy  should  have  been 
kept  in  bed,  and  not  brought  violently  forth  for  correction.  As 
for  the  intention,  though  it  might  have  been  the  first  intention 
of  F ranklin  to  reform  the  boy,  yet  the  intention  of  his  ultimate 
conduct  was  evil,  arising  from  distemper  of  passion. 

In  exempl  ification  of  the  first  position,  a  case  was  supposed, 
as  follows:  if  a  man  should  have  a  servant  sick  of  the  small 
pox,  and  should,  contrary  to  the  advice  of  the  physician,  hale 
him  into  the  open  air,  in  cold  weather,  on  pretence  that  there 
was  a  natural  occasion;  the  act  would  be  unlawful,  and  if  the 
servant  should  die  in  consequence  of  such  treatment,  the 
master  would  be  guilty  of  murder. 

Another  case  was  supposed  to  apply  to  the  second  position; 
viz.  if  a  man  should,  in  a  sudden  passion,  kill  his  child,  or  dear 
friend,  it  would  be  murder,  though  his  prima  intentio  were  to 
instruct  or  admonish  him.  It  was,  moreover,  argued,  that, 
where  no  intention  to  hurt  appears,  as,  for  example,  when  a 
man  has  an  unruly  ox,  and  knows  him  to  be  such,  but  yet  does 
not  keep  him  in,  if  this  ox  gores  a  man  to  death,  the  owner  is 
guilty  of  murder,  and  must  suffer  the  penalty.  Here,  keep¬ 
ing  the  ox  is  a  lawful  act;  but  for  suffering  an  evil  to  happen 
which  he  might  reasonably  be  expected  to  prevent,  the  man 
was  adjudged  a  murderer,  by  the  Holy  Scriptures.  Again, 
m  Exodus.  Chap  xxi.  12.  If  a  master  smite  his  servant  with  a 
rod,  which  is  a  lawful  action,  and  the  servant  die  of  the  blow, 
(as  was  the  case  with  Sewell,)  he  was  to  die  for  it.  On  the 
like  authority,  if  a  man  strike  another  with  his  hand,  or  with 
any  weapon  that  may  cause  death,  and  the  person  stricken 
die  of  the  blow,  the  striker  is  a  murderer:  from  whence 
it  appears,  that  be  the  means  what  they  may,  if  they  be  ap 


WILLIAM  FRANKLIN. 


13 


plied,  voluntarily,  to  an  evil  intent,  it  is  murder.  To  support 
this  conclusion,  a  case  was  cited  of  a  woman  who  had  given 
a  man  a  portion  to  procure  his  love,  whereof  he  died,  and 
she  was,  therefore,  adjudged  guilty  of  murder. 

This  course  of  reasoning  would  hardly  be  thought  conclu¬ 
sive  at  the  present  day,  though  it  seemed  very  forcible  to  the 
members  of  the  Quarter  Court,  who  apparently  forgot  that  the 
Jewish  code  had  been  superseded  by  divine  authority,  and  had 
given  place  to  a  more  merciful  dispensation.  They  found  him 
guilty,  and  sentenced  him  to  death;  referring  his  case,  how¬ 
ever,  to  the  magistrates,  “  who  might,  if  they  saw  cause,  al¬ 
low  him  a  second  trial  for  his  life  at  the  next  Quarter  Court.’’ 
Yet  the  same  persons  held  a  meeting  before  the  sitting  of  the 
said  court,  and  agreed  to  send  their  sentence  to  governor 
John  Endecott,  who  signed  it,  though  there  were  some  who 
disapproved  the  proceeding. 

The  church  of  Roxbury,  who  it  will  be  remembered,  had 
excommunicated  Franklin  a  month  before,  now  that  he  was 
to  die,  agreed  to  have  mercy  on  his  soul.  They  therefore 
procured  permission  for  him  to  be  brought  to  Roxbury,  in¬ 
tending  to  receive  him  again  into  their  communion,  ifthey  found 
him  penitent.  Immediately  after  his  condemnation,  he  judg¬ 
ed  himself,  and  acknowledged  the  justice  of  his  sentence;  but 
soon  after,  with  a  very  natural  inconsistency,  he  retracted 
this  admission,  justifying  himself,  and  criminating  the  wit¬ 
nesses.  To  the  day  of  his  execution,  he  declared  his  belief 
that  God  would  never  lay  the  death  of  the  boy  to  his  charge, 
and  expressed  a  strong  assurance  of  salvation.  On  the  scaf¬ 
fold,  his  firmness  was  somewhat  shaken,  and  he  expressed  a 
fear  that  his  heart  was  hardened,  since  he  could  not  see  his 
guilt  in  the  same  light  that  others  did. 

It  seems  to  us  that  though  the  Quarter  Court  argued  from 
wrong  premises  they  arrived  at  a  proper  conclusion,  and  that 
William  Franklin  suffered  justly. 


i 


THE 


SALEM  WITCHCRAFT. 


So  many  are  the  cases  of  persons  convicted  of  witchcraft 
in  New  England,  that  it  would  require  a  larger  volume  than 
this  to  record  them  all.  Therefore,  we  shall  merely  relate  a 
few,  by  way  of  example,  as  our  work  might  be  deemed  in¬ 
complete  should  we  omit  to  notice  a  delusion,  the  consequences 
of  which  were  so  calamitous. 

A  strange  infatuation  had,  in  the  year  sixteen  hundred  and 
ninety-one,  and  two,  began  to  alarm  the  inhabitants  of  Mas¬ 
sachusetts.  This  was,  that  very  many  persons  were  accused 
of  sorcery,  and  it  is  clear,  from  the  history  of  several  cases, 
that  such  imputations  were,  generally,  sincerely  believed. 
The  mischief  began  in  February,  sixteen  hundred  ninety  one, 
in  the  house  of  Mr.  Parris,  a  resident  clergyman  of  Salem. 
Several  of  his  family  were  afflicted  in  a  way  for  which  the 
physicians  could  not  account,  and  were  therefore  supposed  to 
be  bewitched. 

In  the  month  of  March  following,  Mr.  Parris  invited  several 
neighbouring  clergymen  to  join  with  him  in  observing  a  day 
of  prayer,  at  his  house.  While  they  were  praying  the  be¬ 
witched  persons  were  silent,  and  behaved  with  decorum,  but 
as  soon  as  a  prayer  was  concluded,  they  conducted  as  usual; 
that  is,  they  spoke  in  a  ridiculous  manner,  contorted  their  limbs, 
and  fell,  or  pretended  to  fall,  into  convulsions. 

Mr.  Parris  had  an  Indian  servant  in  his  house.  This 
man,  with  his  wife,  set  about  discovering  the  authors  of  these 
evils.  With  this  intent,  they  made  a  rye  cake,  which  they 
compounded  with  the  urine  of  the  persons  afflicted,  and  gave 
it  to  a  dog  to  eat.  By  this  proceeding  they  hoped  to  clear 
the  eyes  of  the  bewitched  of  the  gross  films  of  mortality, 


SALEM  WITCHCRAFT. 


15 


and  enable  them  to  see  their  invisible  tormentors.  The 
incantation  took  effect,  and  the  first  person  accused  by  the 
sufferers  was  the  Indian  woman  herself.  She  was  committed 
to  prison  immediately,  and  persecuted  with  blows  and  other¬ 
wise,  in  order  to  extort  confession,  and  to  compel  her  to  crimi¬ 
nate  other  witches,  her  supposed  accomplices.  Under  this 
discipline,  it  is  not  wonderful  that  the  poor  squaw  acknowl¬ 
edged  an  intercourse  with  the  Devil;  after  which,  she  was 
publicly  sold  for  her  prison  fees. 

The  bewitched  likewise  accused  Sarah  Good,  and - Os- 

burn,  two  old  women,  the  one  insane,  the  other  bedridden. 
They  were  reputed  witches  before,  and  the  charge  was,  there¬ 
fore,  the  more  readily  believed:  they  were  accordingly  commit¬ 
ted  to  prison.  Goodwife  Corey  and  Rebecca  Nurse  were  the 
next  persons  accused. 

The  bewitched  were  ten  in  number,  all  women.  The  niece 
of  Mr.  Parris,  his  daughter,  and  one  Ann  Putman  were  among 
them,  and  had  been  the  first  and  principal  accusers  of  the 
prisoners.  They  charged  the  poor  old  creatures  with  having 
bitten,  pinched,  choked  them,  &c.  and  said  that  in  their  fits 
and  trances,  they  had  brought  them  books  and  papers  to  sign 

Messrs.  Curwin  and  Hathorn,  the  magistrates  by  whom  the 
accused  were  examined,  do  not  appear  to  have  been  conjurers 
They  very  gravely  asked  mistress  Corey  why  she  afflicted 
her  accusers.  She,  very  properly,  answered,  that  they  were 
poor  distracted  creatures,  and  should  not  be  heeded'.  Here¬ 
upon  Justice  Hathorn  replied,  that  in  the  opinion  of  all  present, 
her  accusers  were  bewitched. 

The  accusers  testified  that  a  black  man  (invisible  to  all  but 
themselves)  stood  by  Goody  Corey  during  the  examination, 
and  whispered  in  her  ear.  They  swore  that  she  had  a  yellow 
bird,  that  was  wont  to  suck  between  her  fingers,  and  was  even 
then  sucking,  though  invisible.  The  magistrates  ordered  that 
mistress  Corey  should  be  examined  between  the  fingers,  to  see 
if  there  were  any  mark  of  this  sucking  dove;  upon  which  the 
witnesses  cried  that  it  was  now  too  late,  for  the  prisoner  had 
removed  a  pin  from  the  place  to  her  hair,  where  indeed  it  was 
found,  sticking  upright.  While  the  accused  were  undergoing 
examination,  if  they  bit  their  lips,  or  grasped  one  hand  with 
the  other,  the  accusers  cried  that  they  were  bitten,  or  pinched. 
They  also  accused  an  infant  belonging  to  Sarah  Gpod,  of 
having  bitten  them,  and  showed  the  marks  of  a  small  set  of 
teeth  on  their  arms,  whereupon  the  child  was  committed  to 
prison,  though  only  four  or  five  years  old. 


6 


SALEM  WITCHCRAFT. 


The  evideice  against  Rebecca  Nurse,  was  much  the  same. 
She  earnestly  denied  the  charge,  but  was  nevertheless  com¬ 
mitted.  She  was  a  devout  Christian  woman,  till  then  of  an 
unblemished  character,  and  had  brought  up  a  large  family  of 
children,  in  the  way  they  should  go,  but  all  this  availed  her 
nothing,  and,  like  many  others,  she  was  t5'  suffer  on  evidence 
which  would  now  be  received  with  contempt. 

Soon  after,  Sarah  Cloys,  the  sister  of  Rebecca  Nurse,  attend¬ 
ing  church,  Mr.  Parris,  on  her  entrance,  took  for  his  text, 
“  Have  not  I  named  you  twelve?  and  one  of  you  is  a  devil.” 
Whereat,  Mistress  Cloys,  perhaps  offended  at  this  allusion  to 
the  circumstances  of  her  sister,  went  out,  shutting  the  door 
violently  after  her.  This  gave  rise  to  suspicion,  and  she  was 
examined  and  committed. 

On  the  eleventh  of  April,  there  was  a  public  examination  at 
Salem;  and  several  persons  appeared,  accusing  others,  with 
hideous  clamor.  A  Mistress  Proctor  was  one  of  the  accused, 
and  when  her  husband  came  to  her  assistance,  the  accusers 
cried  out  on  him  also,  so  that  they  were  both  imprisoned.  At 
this  time,  the  witnesses  would  fall  down  at  the  sight  of  those 
they  accused.  The  Lord’s  Prayer  was  proposed  to  the  pris¬ 
oners  as  a  test,  and  for  any  error  in  phraseology  or  pronuncia¬ 
tion  they  were  committed.  One  of  them,  for  example,  pro¬ 
nounced  the  word  hallowed  as  though  it  were  spelled  hollowed, 
and  was  therefore  judged  unable  to  repeat  the  prayer.  On 
such  trivial  and  puerile  charges  a  great  many  persons  were 
apprehended  and  incarcerated. 

One  Bishop,  attending  this  examination,  became  a  victim  to 
his  own  curiosity,  which  had  led  him  thither.  At  the  inn 
where  he  put  up,  an  Indian,  supposed  to  be  bewitched,  behaved 
in  a  very  unruly  manner.  Bishop  undertook  to  quiet  him,  and 
so  managed  that  the  savage  conducted  with  decorum.  They 
rode  home  together  with  others,  the  Indian  riding  behind  a 
white  man,  whom  suddenly  he  seized  with  his  teeth.  At  this, 
Bishop  struck  him  with  his  whip,  and  he  let  go  his  hold,  and 
promised  to  do  so  no  more.  Bishop  then  said  he  could  cure 
all  the  bewitched,  meaning  in  the  same  way  he  had  cured  the 
Indian.  He  was  probably  right  in  his  belief,  bqt  it  furnished 
a  ground  of  accusation  against  him. 

On  the  thirty-first  of  May,  John  Aldin  of  Boston,  a  very 
respectable  mariner  and  the  master  of  a  ship,  was  apprehended 
and  carried  before  the  magistrates  before  mentioned,  whose 
zeal,  it  seems,  had  increased  their  folly.  Being  confronted 
with  his  accusers,  (females,)  one  of  them,  who  had  a  man  at 


SALEM  WITCHCRAFT. 


17 


her  back  to  hold  her  up,  cried  out  that  Mr.  Aldin  afflicted  her. 
One  of  the  magistrates  asked  how  she  knew  he  afflicted  her, 
and  she  answered,  that  the  man  who  supported  her  told  her  so. 

Then  the  magistrates  commanded  all  parties  to  go  forth  into 
the  street,  which  they  did,  and  a  ring  was  formed  roundAldin. 
Suddenly  the  same  accuser,  (who  had  never  seen  Aldin  before 
that  day,)  cried,  11  there  stands  Aldin,  a  bold  fellow,  with  his 
hat  on  before  the  judges.  He  sells  powder  and  shot  to  the 
French  and  Indians,  and  lies  with  the  squaws,  and  has  Indian 
papooses.”  Then  Aldin  was  taken  into  custody  by  the  mar¬ 
shal  and  deprived  of  his  sword,  for  the  witnesses  declared 
that  he  afflicted  them  with  it.  After  a  deal  more  of  this  dis¬ 
gusting  mummery,  he  was  closely  confined,  and  refused  bail. 
Probably  he  would  have  suffered  death  had  he  not  found  means 
to  escape  soon  after. 

A  special  commission  of  Oyer  and  Terminer  was  at  last 
given  out,  and  the  court  assembled  at  Salem  on  the  second 
of  J une,  in  sixteen  hundred  and  ninety-two.  The  first  person 
tried  was  Goody  Bishop,  who  had  been  accused  of  witchcraft 
twenty  years  before,  by  one  named  Gray,  and  though  he  had 
expressed  his  sorrow  for  the  charge,  on  his  death-bed,  the 
poor  woman  was  still  reputed  a  sorceress.  Verily,  no  one 
can  be  too  cautious  in  speech:  a  word  spoken  in  wantonness 
by  Gray,  embittered  the  life  of  this  woman,  and  finally  brought 
her  to  a  sudden  and  violent  end.  Being  accused,  her  person 
was  examined,  and  a  wart  was  found  on  her,  which  was  believed 
by  the  learned  Court  to  be  a  private  teat  for  the  Devil’s  own 
sucking.  This  notable  piece  of  evidence  sufficed  to  condemn 
her;  sentence  of  death  was  passed,  and  she  was  hanged  in  less 
than  a  week. 

His  excellency  Governor  Sir  William  Phipps,  was  not  alto¬ 
gether  satisfied  of  the  justice,  necessity,  or  expedience  of 
these  bloody  proceedings,  and  therefore  desired  the  advice  of 
several  of  the  more  moderate  clergymen,  who,  on  the  fifteenth 
of  the  month,  delivered  their  opinion  to  him  as  follows: 

That  they  were  affected  by  the  forlorn  plight  of  the  be¬ 
witched  sufferers,  and  grateful  for  the  care  of  the  authorities 
to  detect  the  abominable  sorceries  so  prevalent  in  the  land, 
and  would  pray  for  a  full  discovery  thereof: 

Nevertheless,  they  recommended  that  all  proceedings  should 
be  conducted  with  great  caution,  lest  the  innocent  should  suf> 
fer,  and  that  those  accused  should  be  treated  with  lenity. 
They  also  advised  that  future  examination  should  be  private, 
and  that  learned  men  should  be  consulted  relative  to  what 


18 


SALEM  WITCHCRAFT. 


tests  should  be  used.  They  determined,  farthermore,  that 
the  affirmation  of  the  accusers  that  they  saw  the  ghosts  or 
likenesses  of  the  accused,  was  no  good  ground  of  presumption 
of  guilt,  or  reason  for  conviction,  inasmuch  as  the  Enemy  may 
take  the  shape  of  a  good  man  in  order  to  work  evil.  More¬ 
over,  thej  opined,  that  falling  at  the  sight,  and  rising  at  the 
touch  of  the  accused,  was  no  certain  proof  of  their  guilt, 
such  devices  being  the  chief  strength  of  the  Devil.  There¬ 
fore,  disbelieving  the  evidence  furnished  by  him  might  be  a 
means  <.0  terminate  such  dreadful  calamities.  Nevertheless, 
they  humbly  advised,  that  such  as  had  rendered  themselves 
obnoxious  should  be  speedily  and  vigorously  prosecuted,  ac¬ 
cording  to  the  law  of  God,  and  the  English  statutes,  in  such 
cases  made  and  provided. 

In  pursuance  of  this  ridiculous  advice,  the  court  again  sat 
on  the  thirtieth  of  the  month,  and  tried  five  more,  viz.  Sa¬ 
rah  Good,  Rebecca  Nurse,  Susannah  Martin,  Elizabeth 
How,  and  Sarah  Wildes. 

At  the  trial  of  Sarah  Good,  one  of  the  witnesses  fell  into  a 
convulsion,  and  on  recovering,  declared,  that  the  prisoner  had 
stabbed  her  with  a  knife.  Search  was  made,  and  the  point 
of  a  knife  was  found  about  her,  but  a  young  man  produced 
the  other  part,  and  said  that  he  had  broken  the  weapon,  acci¬ 
dentally,  the  day  before,  in  the  presence  of  the  witness,  which 
sufficiently  accounted  for  the  broken  point.  Notwithstanding 
this  rank  perjury,  the  witness  was  suffered  to  testify,  with  an 
admonition,  however,  to  lie  no  more.  We  are  sorry  we  can¬ 
not  give  the  name  of  this  forsworn  person. 

The  jury  found  Rebecca  Nurse  not  guilty,  on  which  all  the 
witnesses  in  and  out  of  court,  set  up  a  hideous  outcry,  to  the 
amazement  of  the  court,  as  well  as  of  the  spectators.  One 
of  the  judges  said  he  was  not  satisfied  with  the  verdict,  and  an¬ 
other  said  she  ought  to  be  indicted  anew.  The  presiding 
judge  intimated  to  the  jury  that  they  had  not  well  weighed 
one  expression  of  the  prisoner  while  on  trial,  to  wit:  One 
accused  woman,  who  had  been  imprisoned  with  Rebecca  Nurse, 
and  had  since  confessed  herself  a  witch.  This  person  had 
been  called  to  testify  against  the  prisoner;  who,  on  seeing  her 
produced  in  court,  cried,  “  why  do  you  bring  her ?  she  is  one 
of  us.”  This  suggestion  of  the  judge  induced  the  jury  to 
reconsider  these  words,  and  to  go  out  again.  Not  agreeing, 
the  words  of  the  prisoner  were  repeated  to  her,  but  she  was 
stupified  with  fatigue  and  terror,  and  could  give  no  explana¬ 
tion.  Hereupon  the  jury  found  her  guilty,  these  words  being 


SALEM  WITCHCRAFT. 


19 


the  inducement  to  it;  a  most  flagrant  outrage  on  law,  justice, 
and  common  sense,  whether  we  consider  the  conduct  of  judge 
or  jury. 

The  poor  old  woman  was  condemned,  as  Sarah  Good  had 
been  before  her.  But  when  she  was  informed,  in  prison,  on 
what  ground  she  had  been  found  guilty,  she  addressed  a  pa¬ 
per  to  the  court;  declaring  that  her  words  had  no  other  mean¬ 
ing  than  that  the  witness  was  her  fellow  prisoner,  and  charged 
with  witchcraft  like  herself,  and  therefore  not  a  proper  witness. 
Besides,  that  no  one  had  informed  her  what  meaning  had 
been  attached  to  her  words,  and  that  she  had  not  comprehend¬ 
ed  what  was  meant  by  repeating  them,  being  deaf,  and  ab¬ 
sorbed  in  sorrow.  This,  one  might  think,  would  have  satis¬ 
fied  these  sanguinary  blockheads,  but  it  was  of  no  avail. 

On  her  condemnation  she  was  excommunicated  from  the 
Salem  Church,  but  the  Governor,  who  seems  to  have  monop¬ 
olized  alfthe  common  sense  in  Massachusetts  Bay,  granted 
her  a  reprieve.  The  witnesses  now  renewed  their  outcries, 
and  the  Governor  was,  in  a  manner,  compelled  to  withdraw 
the  reprieve. 

The  other  three  prisoners  were  all  condemned  in  like 
manner. 

At  the  trial  of  one  of  these  unfortunates,  one  of  the  wit¬ 
nesses  cried  out  that  she  was  afflicted  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Wil¬ 
lard,  but  this  charge  was  not  heard.  She  was  told  that  she 
must  be  mistaken  in  the  person,  and  then  sent  out  of  court. 
Lucky  was  it  for  Mr.  Willard,  that  he  was  not  esteemed  an 
old  woman. 

On  the  fifth  of  August  the  court  sat  again;  and  the  Reve¬ 
rend  George  Burroughs,  an  irregular  clergyman,  was  brought 
to  the  bar,  together  with  John  Proctor  and  Elizabeth  his  wife, 
John  Willard,  and  George  Jacobs,  and  Martha  Carryer,  who 
were  all  executed  on  the  nineteenth  of  the  month,  excepting 
Elizabeth  Proctor,  who  pleaded  pregnancy. 

Mr.  Burroughs  was  carried  to  execution  through  the  streets 
of  Salem  in  a  cart.  On  the  scaffold,  he  addressed  the  spec¬ 
tators,  declaring  his  innocence  in  terms  which  made  a  very 
serious  impression  on  his  auditors.  He  then  made  a  devout 
prayer,  and  concluded  by  repeating  the  Lord’s  Prayer,  (which 
had  been  proposed  as  a  test,)  clearly,  properly  and  distinctly. 
His  prayer  was  delivered  with  such  feeling  and  eloquence 
that  it  drew  tears  from  the  eyes  of  many.  The  witnesses 
against  him,  some  of  whom  were  present,  said  they  saw  a 
black  man  standing  at  his  elbow  dictating  to  him,  and  Cotton 


I 


20  SALEM  WITCHCRAFT. 

Mather,  as  soon  as  he  was  turned  off,  addressed  the  people,  to 
declare  that  the  sufferer  was  not  an  ordained  minister,  and  to 
persuade  them  of  his  guilt,  saying  that  the  devil  had  often  ap¬ 
peared  like  an  angel  of  light.  By  this  the  populace  were  ap¬ 
peased,  and  the  other  convicts  were  put  to  death.  May  the 
name  of  Cotton  Mather  be  ever  execrated  for  his  savage  dis¬ 
position,  which,  not  satisfied  with  having  done  much  to  procure 
the  fate  of  his  victim,  pursued  him  beyond  the  grave,  and  en¬ 
deavoured  to  blast  his  character  after  death. 

After  Mr.  Burroughs  was  dead  he  was  cut  down,  and  drag¬ 
ged  by  the  neck,  like  a  dog,  to  a  hole  which  had  been  dug, 
just  big  enough  to  receive  his  body.  He  was  then  divest¬ 
ed  of  his  shirt  and  breeches,  and  put  in,  together  with  Willard 
and  Carryer,  and  left  so  imperfectly  covered  that  his  hands 
and  chin,  as  well  as  the  foot  of  one  of  the  others,  remained 
exposed. 

Willard  had  been  employed  to  apprehend  others,  which,  at 
first,  he  did  willingly  enough,  but  being  commanded  to  take 
some  whom  he  did  not  believe  guilty,  he  expressed  his  dis¬ 
satisfaction,  and  was  forthwith  accused  himself.  He  had  got 
as  far,  in  escape,  as  forty  miles  from  Salem,  when  he  was  over¬ 
taken,  brought  back,  and  hanged  as  we  have  already  seen. 

While  Proctor  and  his  wife  were  in  prison,  the  sheriff  seiz¬ 
ed  all  his  goods  and  chattels,  provisions  and  cattle,  leaving 
nothing  for  the  support  of  their  children.  No  part  of  the  said 
goods  were  ever  restored.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Noyes  refused  to 
pray  with  Proctor,  though  requested,  because  he  would  not 
own  himself  a  wizard.  With  such  rigor  were  those  who  in¬ 
curred  this  cruel  imputation  treated,  even  by  men  otherwise 
good  and  benevolent.  During  his  imprisonment  he  addressed 
the  following  letter,  as  directed,  in  behalf  of  himself  and  oth¬ 
ers.  We  give  it  verbatim  et  literatim  ct  punctuatim  for  the 
honor  of  his  memory,  and  the  better  understanding  of  the  way 
in  which  such  proceedings  were  carried  on. 

4  •*  Salem  Prison,  July  23,  1692. 

“  Reverend  Gentlemen, 

“  The  innocency  of  our  case  with  the  enmity  of  our  accuser 
and  our  Judges  and  Jury,  whom  nothing  but  our  innocent  blood 
will  serve,  having  condemned  us  already  before  our  trials, 
being  so  much  incensed  and  engaged  against  us  by  the  devil, 
makes  us  bold  to  beg  and  implore  your  favorable  assistance 
of  this  our  humble  petition  to  his  Excellency,  that  if  it  be  pos¬ 
sible  our  innocent  blood  may  be  spared,  which  undoubtedly 
otherwise  will  be  shed,  if  the  Lord  doth  not  mercifully  step  in 


SALEM  WITCHCRAFT. 


23 


The  magistrates,  ministers,  juries,  and  all  the  people  in  gen¬ 
eral,  being  so  much  enraged  and  incensed  against  us  by  the 
delusion  of  the  devil,  which  we  can  term  no  other,  by  reason 
we  know  in  our  own  consciences,  we  are  all  innocent  persons. 
Here  are  five  persons  who  have  lately  confessed  themselves 
to  be  witches,  and  do  accuse  some  of  us,  of  being  along  with 
them  at  a  sacrament,  since  we  were  committed  into  close  pris¬ 
on,  which  we  know  to  be  lies.  Two  of  the  five  are  (Carry- 
er’s  sons)  young  men,  who  would  not  confess  anything  till  they 
tied  them  neck  and  heels,  till  the  blood  was  ready  to  come  out 
of  their  noses,  and  it  is  credibly  believed  and  reported  this  was 
the  occasion  of  making  them  confess  what  they  never  did,  by 
reason  they  said  one  had  been  a  witch  a  month,  and  another 
five  weeks,  and  that  their  mother  had  made  them  so,  who  has 
been  confined  here  this  nine  weeks.  My  son  William  Proctor, 
when  he  was  examined,  because  he  would  not  confess  that  he 
was  guilty,  when  he  was  innocent,  they  tied  him  neck  and 
heels  till  the  blood  gushed  out  at  his  nose,  and  would  have 
kept  him  so  24  hours,  if  one  more  merciful  than  the  rest,  had 
not  taken  pity  on  him,  and  caused  him  to  be  unbound.  These 
actions  are  very  like  the  Popish  cruelties.  They  have  al¬ 
ready  undone  us  in  our  estates,  and  that  will  not  serve  their 
turns,  without  our  innocent  blood.  If  it  cannot  be  granted 
that  we  can  have  our  trials  at  Boston,  we  humbly  beg  that 
you  would  endeavor  to  have  these  magistrates  changed,  and 
others  in  their  rooms,  begging  also  and  beseeching  you  would 
be  pleased  to  be  here,  if  not  all,  some  of  you  at  our  trials, 
hoping  thereby  you  may  be  the  means  of  saving  the  shedding 
of  our  innocent  blood,  desiring  your  prayers  to  the  Lord  in  our 
behalf,  we  rest  your  poor  afflicted  servants, 

John  Proctor,  <Sfc. 

Mr.  Mather,  Mr.  Allen,  Mr.  Moody, 

Mr.  Willard,  Mr.  Baily. 

This  appeal  availed  Proctor  nothing.  At  the  place  of  ex¬ 
ecution  he  pleaded  hard  for  a  little  time,  saying  that  he  was 
not  fit  to  die,  but  his  prayer  was  disregarded. 

George  Jacobs  was  a  very  old  man.  After  his  condemna¬ 
tion,  the  sheriff  took  all  his  goods  from  his  wife,  even  her  wed¬ 
ding  ring,  and  she  was  compelled  to  buy  the  very  food  that  he 
had  carried  from  her  house. 

Margaret  Jacobs,  the  grand-daughter  of  George,  had  ac¬ 
knowledged  herself  a  witch,  and  had  borne  witness  against  Bur- 


H 


SALEM  WITCHCRAFT. 


roughs,  Willard,  and  her  aged  relative.  The  day  before  their 
execution  she  asked  forgiveness  of  Mr.  Burroughs,  and  own¬ 
ed  that  she  had  sworn  falsely.  He  forgave  and  prayed  for  her. 
She  also  wrote,  to  the  same  effect,  to  her  grandfather  in  prison, 
avowing  that  her  testimony  had  been  extorted  by  the  threats 
of  the  magistrates.  Her  own  trial  was  postponed  on  account 
of  sickness,  and  thus  she  escaped. 

On  the  ninth  of  September,  six  more  were  sentenced  to 
die,  and  on  the  sixteenth  one  Giles  Cory,  was  pressed  to 
death.  He  pleaded  not  guilty  to  the  indictment;  but  refused 
to  be  tried  by  jury.  In  pressing,  his  tongue  was  forced  out 
of  his  mouth,  but  Mr.  Sheriff  Corwin  thrust  it  back  again  with 
his  cane.  Cory  was  the  first  that  suffered  in  this  manner  in 
New  England. 

On  the  seventeenth,  nine  more  received  the  same  sentence, 
among  whom  was  the  wife  of  Giles  Cory.  She  protested  her 
innocence  to  the  last,  and  made  a  prayer  on  the  scaffold. 

Another,  Wardwell  by  name,  had  formerly  confessed  him¬ 
self  guilty  ,  but  had  been  brought  to  trial  for  recanting.  Noth¬ 
ing  appeared  against  him  but  his  former  confession,  and  the 
assertions  of  the  witnesses  that  his  apparition  tormented  them. 
While  he  was  addressing  the  people  from  the  gallows  tree,  the 
executioner,  who  was  employed  with  a  pipe,  smoked  in  his  face, 
and  interrupted  his  discourse,  which  caused  some  to  say  “that 
the  Devil  hindered  him  with  smoke.” 

Mary  Easty,  sister  of  Rebecca  Nurse  before  mentioned, 
when  she  bade  farewell  to  her  husband,  children  and  friends, 
was  composed,  affectionate,  and  devout.  It  seems,  that  be¬ 
side  the  testimony  of  confessors  and  witnesses,  a  wart  was 
lound  on  her  person,  which  was  deemed  irrefragable  evidence 
of  guilt.  She  addressed  a  petition  for  mercy  to  the  court,  but 
no  notice  was  taken  of  it,  and  she  suffered  with  the  rest. 
When  they  were  turned  off,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Noyes  said,  “  it  was 
a  sad  thing  to  see  so  many  firebrands  of  hell  hanging  there.” 

In  October  the  wife  of  the  Reverend  Mr.  Hale,  of  Bever¬ 
ly,  was  accused.  This  man  had,  at  first,  been  a  zealous  per¬ 
secutor  of  witches,  but  this  misfortune  changed  his  opinion 
of  their  guilt.  It  was  at  this  time  a  matter  of  controversy 
among  the  clergy,  whether  the  devil  could  do  ill  in  the  shape 
of  a  good  person  or  not.  He  had  at  first  taken  the  affirma¬ 
tive  side  of  the  question,  but  was  now  convinced  of  his  error. 

One  Ballard,  of  Andover,  set  the  bloodhound  witnesses  on  a 
new  scent.  His  wife  having  died  of  a  fever,  he  sent  for  some 


SALEM  WITCHCRAFT. 


25 


of  them  to  tell  him  who  had  afflicted  her.  Others  followed  his 
example,  and  horses  and  men  were  sent  in  every  direction  in 
quest  of  persons  who  could  see  apparitions.  When  these 
came  into  the  presence  of  the  sick  person,  they  usually  pre¬ 
tended  to  be  convulsed;  after  which,  being  asked  who  afflicted 
the  invalid,  they  commonly  named  one,  who,  they  said,  sat  at 
the  head,  and  another  who  sat  on  the  lower  limbs.  More  than 
fifty  inhabitants  of  Andover  were  thus  accused.  The  infatu¬ 
ation  extended  to  many  of  these,  and  they  charged  themselves 
with  riding  through  the  air  on  broomsticks,  and  other  the  like 
absurdities.  Parents  believed  their  children  to  be  witches,  and 
husbands  their  wfives,  and  so  on  tb  the  end  of  the  chapter.  It 
was  also  common  for  young  people,  when  they  saw  the  accu¬ 
sers,  to  fall  into  convulsions,  and  to  profess  to  have  acquired 
this  spectral  second  sight. 

Justice  Bradstreet  of  Andover,  had  committed  thirty  or 
forty  persons  to  prison,  on  such  charges;  but  at  last  became 
convinced  of  his  error,  and  refused  to  grant  any  more  warrants; 
as  soon  as  this  was  known,  his  wife  was  accused,  and  he  was 
himself  charged  with  having  destroyed  nine  persons  by  his 
sorceries.  The  accusers  were  sent  to  see  a  sick  dog;  and  de¬ 
clared  that  John  Bradstreet,  brother  of  the  justice,  was  riding 
on  the  animal.  That  gentleman  forthwith  made  his  escape. 

A  dog  at  Andover  was  charged  with  witchcraft,  and  put  to 
death.  Shortly  after,  a  worthy  man  in  Boston  was  charged 
with  sorcery  by  the  Andover  accusers.  He  brought  an  ac¬ 
tion  against  them  for  defamation,  and  thenceforward  the  accu¬ 
sations  were  less  frequent  in  Andover. 

By  the  end  of  October,  the  prison  in  Salem  was  so  full  of 
witches  that  it  could  hold  no  more.  By  the  time  the  commis¬ 
sion  of  the  court  expired,  nineteen  had  been  hanged,  and  one 
pressed  to  death.  Eight  more  were  under  sentence,  making 
twenty  eight  in  all,  of  whom  more  than  a  third  were  church 
members,  and  almost  all  were  persons  of  good  character. 
Fifty  more  had  confessed  themselves  witches  and  wizards; 
there  were  a  hundred  and  fifty  more  in  prison,  and  two  hun¬ 
dred  of  the  accused  were  yet  atdarge.  Here  follows  some  ac¬ 
count  of  the  means  by  which  some  of  these  confessions  were 
procured,  given  by  the  confessors  themselves. 

They  were  inhabitants  of  Andover,  and  had  been  told,  that 
persons  bewitched  could  tell  who  and  what  was  the  cause  of 
their  affliction.  Afterwards,  they  were  summoned  to  the  pres¬ 
ence  of  those  bewitched,  and  bidden  to  lay  their  hands  on 
them.  At  this  the  sick  persons  said  they  were  well,  and  that 

2 


26 


SALEM  WITCHCRAFT. 


these  were  the  witches,  whereupon  they  were  incacerated. 
Amazed  and  affrighted,  and  being  advised  by  their  friends  to 
confess,  as  the  only  means  to  save  their  lives,  they  did  accor¬ 
dingly  acknowledge  themselves  witches.  •  Even  then  their 
confessions  were  dictated,  by  others,  who  told  them  that  they 
knew  their  guilt,  and  frightened  them  out  of  their  senses;  when 
they  repeated  everything  that  was  said.  Most  of  these  ac¬ 
knowledgements  were,  in  effect,  but  a  mere  consenting  to 
what  these  advisers  affirmed.  When  the  prisoners  were  more 
composed,  and  were  reminded  of  their  confessions,  they 
retracted,  and  professed  ignorance  of  the  whole.  Wardwell, 
thus  renouncing  his  confession,  was  forthwith  tried  and  execu¬ 
ted;  whereby  the  others  were  compelled  to  persevere  in 
falsehood. 

It  may  be  added  concerning  those  who  did  confess,  that 
confession  was  the  price  of  life  and  liberty.  Moreover,  many 
of  them  were  subjected  to  long  and  tedious  examinations  be¬ 
fore  private  persons,  and  were  urged,  and  persuaded,  and  tor¬ 
tured — by  long  standing,  want  of  sleep,  &c.,  till  they  assented 
to  whatever  was  said.  Beside,  they  were  over  persuaded,  and 
prevailed  on  by  the  tears  and  prayers  of  their  friends,  and  re¬ 
lations  who  feared  for  their  lives. 

At  last  the  evil  so  increased,  that  no  man,  of  whatever  stand¬ 
ing,  could  go  abroad  with  assurance  that  the  next  door  he  en¬ 
tered  would  not  be  that  of  a  prison.  An  universal  consterna¬ 
tion  prevailed.  Some  accused  themselves,  in  order  to  prevent 
being  accused  by  others,  and  to  escape  death;  and  many  fled 
the  province.  At  length,  about  fifteen  months  after  the  com¬ 
mencement  of  the  persecution,  Governor  Phipps  put  a  stop 
to  all  farther  proceedings,  and  the  whole  country  became  sen¬ 
sible  of  their  delusion.  The  jury,  and  one  of  the  judges  of  the 
court  of  Oyer  and  Terminer,  made  a  public  acknowledgement 
of  their  error.  Mr.  Parris,  the  first  persecutor,  felt  the  effects 
of  general  indignation,  and  was  dismissed  from  his  ministry. 

We  have,  necessarily,  given  a  meagre  sketch  of  this  unpar¬ 
alleled  infatuation,  of  which  the  details  would  have  been  volu¬ 
minous.  We  conclude  by  handing  down  to  everlasting  infa¬ 
my,  the  names  of  its  authors.  These  were,  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Parris,  Elizabeth  his  daughter,  Abigail  Williams  his  niece, 
and  Ann  Putman,  who  were  not  only  the  beginners,  but  the 
most  forward  in  the  subsequent  accusations.  The  other  wicked 
members  of  the  wicked  household,  were  Mrs.  Pope,  Mrs. 
Putman,  Mrs.  Bibber,  Mrs.  Goodall,  Mary  Wolcott,  Mercy 
Liwes,  and  a  servant  maid.  The  prime  instigator  in  the 
persecution  that  ensued,  was  the  Reverend  Cotton  Mather. 


It 


ev1 


Kidd  shooting  the  Indian 


ROBERT  KIDD. 


This  man  was  not  a  native  of  this  country,  nor  was  he 
tried  or  executed  in  it;  yet,  as  our  coast  was  the  place  from 
whence  he  started  on  his  career  of  crime,  and  as  his  name 
is  familiar  to  every  American,  we  have  judged  it  not  improper 
to  give  some  account  of  his  adventures.  His  crimes  have 
been  the  groundwork  of  many  a  legend,  and  his  supposed 
u  last  words  and  dying  speech”  beginning  thus, 

m 

“  My  name  was  Captain  Kidd, 

As  I  sailed,  as  I  sailed. 

My  name  was  Captain  Kidd;  ' 

And  most  wickedly  I  did 
As  I  sailed  ” 

has  been  hawked  about  the  streets  of  Boston  in  a  ballad. 
Yet,  though  all  know  that  he  was  tried,  convicted,  and  execu¬ 
ted  as  a  pirate,  few  are  acquainted  with  the  nature  or  extent 
of  his  misdoings. 

The  earliest  accounts  of  him,  state  that  he  was  a  mariner  of 
good  credit  and  fair  reputation.  In  the  early  part  of  the  reign 
of  William  the  Third,  he  commanded  a  privateer  in  the  West 
Indies;  and  by  his  bravery  and  good  conduct  earned  the  char¬ 
acter  of  a  gallant  officer,  and  skilful  seaman.  In  such 
esteem  was  he,  that  the  Lord  Bellamont,  then  Governor  of 
Barbadoes,  recommended  him  to  the  crown  as  a  person  fitted 
to  suppress  piracy,  then  very  prevalent  in  those  parts,  by  his 
knowledge  of  the  West  Indian  seas,  and  acquaintance  with 
the  haunts  of  these  depradators.  Lord  Bellamont,  therefore, 
advised  that  the  command  of  a  government  ship  should  be 
entrusted  to  him  for  this  purpose.  This  suggestion  met  with 
no  attention,  which  was  the  more  pity,  as  great  injury  to 
British  commerce  was  the  consequence  of  the  neglect. 

About  this  time  the  pirates  had  made  several  very  important 
captures,  and  it  was  supposed  that  immense  wealth  was  accu¬ 
mulated  at  their  places  of  rendezvous,  in  the  smaller  West 
India  Islands.  Under  this  impression,  Lord  Bellamont  and 
others,  fitted  out  an  armed  vessel,  the  command  of  which  they 
gave  to  Captain  Kidd,  hoping  to  find  their  account  therein. 
To  give  their  undertaking  the  support  of  law,  as  well  as  to 


30 


ROBERT  KIDD 


insure  subordination  among  the  crew,  they  procured  the  King’s 
commission  for  Kidd,  of  which  the  following  is  an  authentic 
copy. 

“WILLIAM  REX. 

William  the  Third,  by  the  Grace  of  God,  King  of  Eng¬ 
land,  Scotland,  France,  and  Ireland,  Defender  of  the  Faith, 
&c.  To  our  trusty  and  well  beloved  Captain  Robert  Kidd, 
commander  of  the  ship  the  Adventure  Galley,  or  to  any  other, 
the  commander  of  the  same  for  the  time  being,  Greeting: 

Whereas,  we  are  informed  that  Captain  Thomas  Too,  John 
Ireland,  Captain  Thomas  Wake,  and  Captain  William  Maze, 
or  Mace,  and  other  subjects,  natives  or  inhabitants  of  New 
York,  and  elsewhere,  in  our  plantations  in  America,  have 
associated  themselves  with  divers  others,  wicked  and  ill  dis¬ 
posed  persons,  and  do,  against  the  laws  of  nations,  commit 
many  and  great  piracies,  robberies,  and  depredations  on  the 
seas  upon  the  parts  of  America,  and  in  other  parts,  to  the 
great  hinderance  and  discouragement  of  trade  and  navigation, 
and  to  the  great  danger  and  hurt  of  our  loving  subjects,  our 
allies  and  all  others,  navigating  the  seas  upon  their  lawful 
occasions.  Now  Know  Ye,  that  we,  being  desirous  to  pre¬ 
vent  the  aforesaid  mischiefs,  and  as  much  as  in  us  lies  to 
bring  the  said  pirates,  freebooters,  and  sea  rovers  to  justice, 
have  thought  ht,  and  do  hereby  give  and  grant  to  the  said 
Robert  Kidd  (to  whom  our  commissioners  for  exercising  the 
office  of  Lord  High  Admiral  of  England,  have  granted  a 
commission  as  a  private  man  of  war,  bearing  date  the  eleventh 
day  of  December  sixteen  hundred  and  ninety  five,)  and  unto 
the  commander  of  the  said  ship  for  the  time  being,  and  unto 
the  officers,  mariners,  and  others,  which  shall  be  under  your 
command,  full  power  and  authority  to  apprehend,  seize,  and 
take  into  your  custody,  as  well  the  said  Captain  Thomas  Too, 
John  Ireland,  Captain  Thomas  Wake,  and  Captain  William 
Maze,  or  Mace,  as  all  other  such  pirates,  freebooters,  and 
sea  rovers,  being  either  our  subjects,  or  of  other  nations  asso¬ 
ciated  with  them,  which  you  shall  meet  with  upon  the  seas  or 
coasts  of  America,  or  upon  any  other  seas  or  coasts,  with 
all  their  ships  and  vessels,  and  all  such  merchandises,  money, 
goods,  and  wares  as  shall  be  found  on  board  or  with  them,  in 
case  they  shall  willingly  yield  themselves;  but  if  they  will 
not  yield  without  fighting,  then  you  are  by  force  to  compel 
them  to  yield.  And  we  also  require  you  to  bring,  or  cause 
to  be  brought,  such  pirates,  freebooters  or  sea  rovers,  as  you 


ROBERT  KIDD. 


31 


shall  seize,  to  a  legal  trial,  to  the  end  they  may  be  proceeded 
against,  according  to  the  law  in  such  cases.  And  we  do  here¬ 
by  command  all  our  officers,  ministers,  and  others  our  loving 
subjects  whomsoever,  to  be  aiding  and  assisting  to  jmu  in  the 
premises.  And  we  do  hereby  enjoin  you  to  keep  an  exact 
journal  of  your  proceedings  in  the  execution  of  the  premises, 
and  to  set  down  the  names  of  such  pirates,  and  of  their  offi¬ 
cers  and  company,  and  the  names  of  such  ships  and  vessels 
as  you  shall  by  virtue  of  these  presents  take  and  seize,  and 
the  quantities  of  arms,  ammunition,  provision,  and  lading  of 
such  ships,  and  the  true  value  of  the  same,  as  near  as  you 
can  judge.  And  we  do  hereby  strictly  charge  and  command 
you,  as  you  will  answer  the  contrary  at  your  peril,  that  you  do 
,not,  in  any  manner,  offend  or  molest  our  friends  or  allies, 
their  ships,  or  subjects,  by  color  or  pretence  of  these  presents, 
or  the  authority  thereby  granted.  In  witness  whereof  we 
have  caused  our  great  seal  of  England  to  be  affixed  to  these 
presents.  Given  at  our  court  of  Kensington,  the  twenty-sixth 
day  of  January,  sixteen  hundred  and  ninety-five,  in  the  sev¬ 
enth  year  of  our  reign.  William  Rex.” 

Kidd  had  also  another  commission,  called  a  Commission  of 
Reprisals,  to  justify  him  in  taking  French  merchant  ships,  in 
case  he  should  meet  with  any,  England  being  then  at  war 
with  France. 

With  these  commissions  he  sailed  for  the  city  of  New  Yo»  <i, 
from  Plymouth,  in  May,  sixteen  hundred  and  ninety-six,  in 
the  Adventure,  of  thirty  guns,  and  eighty  men.  On  his  passage 
he  took  a  French  merchant  vessel,  according  to  the  authority 
in  his  commission  of  Reprisals. 

As  he  proposed  to  deal  with  desperate  enemies;  when  he 
arrived  at  New  York  he  set  up  a  rendezvous,  and  issued  a 
handbill,  in  order  to  enlist  more  men.  The  terms  he  offered 
were  sufficiently  liberal:  every  seamen  was  to  have  a  share 
in  what  should  be  taken,  after  a  reduction  of  forty  shares  for 
himself  and  his  owners.  This  encouragement  increased  his 
company  to  an  hundred  and  fifty  men,  very  shortly. 

This  done,  lie  sailed  to  Madeira,  where  he  took  in  wine  and 
necessaries,  and  thence  to  Bonavista,  one  of  the  Cape  de 
Verd  Islands,  to  furnish* the  ship  with  salt.  At  another  of 
the  Cape  de  Verd  group  he  obtained  provisions.  After  this 
he  steered  for  Madagascar,  where  a  formidable  crew  of  pirates 
was  then  established,  and  made  the  coast  in  February,  sixteen 
hundred  and  ninety-six,  just  nine  months  subsequent  to  his 
departure  from  Plymouth.  It  so  happened  that,  at  the  time 


32 


ROBERT  KIDD. 


of  his  arrival,  all  the  pirate  ships  were  absent;  and  getting  no 
satisfactory  intelligence  respecting  them,  Captain  Kidd,  after 
watering  his  ship  and  procuring  a  fresh  supply  of  provisions, 
sailed  for  the  coast  of  Malabar,  which  he  reached  in  the  fol¬ 
lowing  June.  Hereabout  he  cruised  for  awhile,  without  the 
smallest  success,  till  his  provisions  failed  and  his  ship  needed 
repair.  At  Johanna  he  borrowed  money  from  some  French¬ 
men,  who  had  been  cast  away,  but  had  saved  their  effects,  and 
with  it  he  managed  to  refit  the  Adventure. 

It  does  not  appear  that  during  all  this  time  he  had  any  in¬ 
tention  to  commit  piracy,  for  it  is  known  that  he  met  several 
richly  laden  India  ships,  to  which  he  did  not  the  smallest  injury, 
though  he  was  amply  provided  with  the  means.  The  first  of 
his  delicts  on  record,  was  a  robbery  he  committed  on  the  na¬ 
tives  of  a  place  called  Mabbee,  on  the  Red  Sea,  from  whom 
he  took  a  quantity  of  corn  by  force.  After  this  depredation, 
he  sailed  to  Bale’s  Key,  a  little  island  at  the  entrance  of  the 
Red  Sea.  Here  he  first  advised  his  crew  of  his  intentions. 
He  .informed  them  that  he  meant  to  change  his  measures;  and 
speaking  of  the  expected  Mocha  fleet,  he  said,  u  We  have 
hitherto  been  unsuccessful;  but  courage,  my  boys!  we  shall 
make  our  fortunes  out  of  this  fleet.”  Finding  his  men  very 
willing  to  embrace  piracy  as  a  business,  he  sent  a  boat  to  ex¬ 
plore  the  coast  and  make  discoveries.  It  returned  in  a  few 
days  with  the  tidings  that  fourteen  or  fifteen  ships  were  coming, 
some  English,  some  Dutch,  and  some  Moorish. 

At  first  Kidd  had  meant  well,  while  his  hopes  of  making  a 
fortune  out  of  the  spoils  of  the  pirates  lasted;  but  now,  dis¬ 
contented  at  his  want  of  success,  and  fearing  lest  his  owners 
in  their  disappointment,  should  dismiss  him,  and  that  so  he 
should  be  brought  to  want,  he  resolved,  since  he  could  not  suc¬ 
ceed  in  one  business,  to  try  another. 

He  ordered  a  constant  watch  to  be  kept  from  the  mast  head, 
lest  the  fleet  before  mentioned  should  pass  unobserved.  In  a 
few  days,  and  toward  evening,  the  fleet  hove  in  sight,  convoy¬ 
ed  by  two  men  of  war,  one  under  Dutch,  and  the  other  un¬ 
der  English  colors.  Kidd  steered  into  the  midst  of  the  fleet,  and 
fired  into  a  Moorish  ship,  when  the  armed  vessels  hearing  down 
upon  him,  he  was  forced  to  sheer  off,  as  he  was  not  strong 
enough  to  cope  with  them.  But  in  piracy  as  in  many  other 
things,  ce  rfest  quc  le  premier  pas  qui  coule,  and  as  he  had  now  be¬ 
gun  hostilities  with  mankind,  he  determined  to  persevere,  and 
so  continued  his  cruise  on  the  coast  of  Malabar.  HLs  first  prize 
was  a  small  Moorish  vessel  belonging  to  Aden,  the  owners  of 


ROBERT  KIDD. 


33 


which  were  native  merchants.  The  master  was  an  Englishman 
named  Parker,  and  there  was  also  a  Portuguese,  by  the  name 
of  Antonio,  on  board.  These  men  Kidd  impressed,  intending 
to  use  the  former  as  a  pilot  and  the  latter  as  an  interpreter. 
He  used  the  Mahometan  crew  with  great  barbarity,  tying  them 
up  and  scourging  them,  to  make  them  discover  whether  they 
had  money.  As  they  had  neither  gold  nor  silver,  he  gained 
nothing  by  his  cruelty  but  one  bale  of  pepper  and  another  of 
coffee,  which  he  took  from  them  before  he  let  them  go.  It 
would  seem  that  one  act  of  piracy  is  enough  to  render  men 
bloody  and  barbarous;  for  there  are  few  cases  within  our 
knowledge,  where  the  sufferers  have  not  been  personally  mal¬ 
treated  as  well  as  robbed.  Highway  robbers  are  not  unfre- 
quently  known  to  carry  on  their  trade  with  some  degree  of 
generosity  and  humanity,  whereas  the  very  reverse  is  the  case 
with  pirates. 

Kidd  then  touched  at  Carawar,  a  place  on  the  same  coast, 
where  the  report  of  the  offence  he  had  committed  had  arriv- 
ed  before  him.  Some  English^merchants  in  the  place  had 
been  advised  of  it  by  the  owners  of  the  plundered  vessel,  and 
two  of  them  came  on  board  and  inquired  for  Parker  and  An¬ 
tonio.  Kidd  denied  that  he  knew  any  such  persons;  he  had 
indeed,  confined  them  in  the  hold,  where  he  kept  them  out  of 
si glit  lill  he  weighed  anchor. 

However,  the  whole  coast  was  alarmed,  and  a  Portuguese 
man  of  war  went  in  search  of  Kidd,  and  overtook  him.  Kidd 
attacked  her,  and  the  engagement  lasted  six  hours,  but  find¬ 
ing  her. too  strong  for  him,  he  set  all  sail  and  escaped,  for  the 
Adventure  was  much  the  best  sailer. 

Soon  after,  he  gave  chase  to  a  ship  with  French  colors  fly¬ 
ing,  whereupon  the  chase  hoisted  the  French  flag  also.  Com¬ 
ing  up  with  her  he  hailed  her  in  French,  and  was  answered  by 
a  F renchman,  in  the  same  language.  Our  pirate  ordered  them 
to  send  their  boat  on  board,  which  they  were  obliged  to  do. 
The  Frenchman  came  in  her,  and  the  prize  proved  to  belong 
to  Mahometan  merchants,  though  the  master  was  a  Dutchman. 
The  Frenchman  was  a  passenger.  Kidd  asked  him  if  he  had 
any  French  papers,  and  was  answered  in  the  affirmative; 
whereupon  the  pirate  told  him  that  he  must  pass  for  captain, 
u  for,  by — ,”said  he,  “  you  are  the  captain.”  He  meant  by 
this,  that  he  would  hold  the  ship  as  a  lawful  prize,  as  though 
she  belonged  to  French  subjects,  according  to  the  tenor  of  his 
commission.  The  Frenchman  did  not  dare  to  dissent.  After 
what  Kidd  had  done,  however,  it  might  be  supposed  that  a 

2* 


34 


ROBERT  KIDD. 


quibble  to  shield  him  from  the  law  would  have  been  of  little 
use. 

In  short,  he  took  the  cargo,  and  sold  it  some  time  after;  but 
it  seems  he  was  not  altogether  without  misgivings  of  what  the 
end  of  his  proceedings  would  be,  for  on  coming  up  with  anoth¬ 
er  Dutch  ship,  while  all  his  crew  were  eager  to  attack  her, 
Kidd  alone  opposed  it.  A  mutiny  took  place,  and  a  part  of 
the  crew  armed  themselves,  and  manned  a  boat  in  order  to 
board  the  Dutch  vessel,  but  Kidd  told  them  that  if  they  left 
the  Adventure  they  should  never  come  on  board  again,  upon 
which  they  desisted.  He  then  kept  company  with  the  Dutch 
man  some  hours,  without  offering  any  violence.  Man  seldom 
stops  in  the  road  of  guilt,  and  so  was  seen  of  Kidd. 

This  very  adventure  caused  him  to  add  murder  to  the  dark 
catalogue  of  his  sins.  One  Moor,  the  gunner  of  the  Adven¬ 
ture,  was  talking  with  him  some  days  after  on  the  subject  of 
the  Dutch  ship,  and  hard  words  passed  between  them.  Moor 
told  our  pirate  that  he  had  ruined  the  whole  ship’s  company, 
whereat  Kidd  called  him  a  dog,  and  seizing  a  bucket,  struck 
him  on  the  head  with  it.  The  blow  fractured  his  skull,  and  he 
died  the  next  day. 

At  first  the  freebooter  was  somewhat  affected  at  the  death  of 
his  follower  in  iniquity,  and  resolved  to  reform.  He  also  read 
lliu  aeiiptu/us  diligcnlly,  bul,  unhappily,  his  penilence  was  of 
short  duration,  vanishing  at  the  sight  of  the  first  vessel  he 
saw.  Following  the  coast  of  Malabar,  he  plundered  a  great 
many  boats  and  small  vessels,  as  well  as  a  large  Portuguese 
ship,  of  which  he  kept  possession  a  week,  and  finally  took  from 
,  her  a  considerable  part  of  her  cargo.  Shortly  after  he  went 
to  one  of  the  Malabar  islands  for  wood  and  water,  where  the 
natives  killed  the  ship’s  cooper,  who  was  so  imprudent  as  to  go 
ashore  alone.  Kidd  landed,  and  burned  and  pillaged  several 
houses,  but  the  people  fled.  However,  he  took  one,  whom  he 
.  tied  to  a  tree  and  shot.  Then  putting  to  sea  he  took  the 
greatest  prize  that  ever  fell  into  his  hands,  being  a  ship  of 
four  hundred  tons  burden,  owned  by  natives  and  command¬ 
ed  by  an  Englishman,  and  named  the  Queda.  Kidd  chased 
her  under  French  colors,  and  having  come  up  with  her,  order¬ 
ed  the  master  to  hoist  out  his  boat  and  come  on  board  the  Ad¬ 
venture.  He  was  obeyed.  He  told  the  master  that  he  was 
a  prisoner,  and  inquired  of  him  who  were  on  board  the  Que¬ 
da.  There  were  two  Dutchmen  and  one  Frenchman,  but  all 
the  rest  of  the  crew  were  Indians  and  Armenians;  for  it  was 
at  that  time  the  custom  of  the  Mahometans  to  man  their  ves- 


ROBERT  KIDD. 


35 


sels  with  natives,  while  the  command  was  given  to  an  Euro¬ 
pean,  as  being  more  skilful  in  navigation.  The  Armenians  on 
board  the  prize  were  part  owners  of  her,  and  Kidd  told  them 
that  they  must  redeem  themselves  and  their  vessel  with  mon¬ 
ey*  They  offered  him  twenty  thousand  rupees,  but  he  was 
not  satisfied  with  the  proffer.  He  therefore  set  the  crew 
ashore  at  several  places  on  the  coast,  and  sold  as  much  of 
the  cargo  as  brought  him  about  forty  thousand  dollars.  He 
also  traded  with  a  part  of  it,  receiving  in  exchange  provisions, 
and  such  other  articles  as  he  needed,  till  by  degrees  he  dis¬ 
posed  of  nearly  the  whole.  The  natives  of  the  coast  came 
on  board  the  Adventure,  and  Kidd  trafficked  with  them  in  good 
faith,  till  he  was  ready  to  sail,  when  he  took  their  goods  from 
them,  and  set  them  ashore  without  payment.  They  said  of 
this  proceeding,  that  they  had  been  used  to  deal  with  pirates, 
and  had  always  found  them  enemies  to  deceit,  honest  in  the 
way  of  trade,  and  that  they  scorned  dishonesty  of  any  fashion 
but  their  own.  Kidd,  they  said,  was  the  first  who  had  be¬ 
haved  in  a  contrary  manner.  Nevertheless,  the  pirate  divided 
the  spoil,  reserving  to  himself  forty  shares.  His  own  part 
amounted  to  about  eight  thousand  pounds,  and  his  crew  re¬ 
ceived  two  hundred  pounds  each. 

Kidd  put  some  of  his  men  on  board  the  Queda,  and  sailed 
in  company  with  her  to  Madagascar.  He  had  hardly  drop¬ 
ped  anchor  when  a  canoe  came  along  side,  in  which  were 
several  English  pirates  whom  he  had  formerly  known.  They 
saluted  him,  and  said  they  had  heard  he  had  come  to  take  and 
hang  them.  This  they  thought  would  be  less  than  kind  in  an 
old  acquaintance.  Kidd  removed  their  fears  by  swearing 
that  he  had  no  such  design,  and  that  he  was  now  one  of  them, 
and  as  bad  as  they.  Then,  calling  for  liquor,  he  drank  the 
health  of  their  captain. 

These  men  belonged  to  a  piratical  vessel  which  lay  at  an¬ 
chor  close  by.  She  was  named  the  Resolution,  and  was^com- 
manded  by  one  Culliford.  Kidd  went  on  board  the  Resolu¬ 
tion,  and  offered  his  friendship  and  assistance  to  his  brother 
robber;  and  Culliford,  in  turn,  visited  the  Adventure,  and  re¬ 
ciprocated  the  offer.  Finding  Culliford  in  want  of  some 
necessaries,  Kidd  presented  him  with  an  anchor  and  several 
pieces  of  cannon,  in  token  of  sincerity. 

The  Adventure  was  now  so  old  and  leaky  that  she  could  be 
kept  afloat  no  longer,  for  vessels  decay  rapidly  in  the  East 
Indian  seas.  Kidd,  therefore,  shifted  her  guns  and  tackle  to 
the  Queda;  and  as  he  had  already  divided  the  money,  he  now 


ROBERT  KIDI). 


36 

made  a  division  of  the  remainder  of  her  cargo.  Soon  after, 
the  greater  part  of  his  crew  left  him.  Some  joined  Culliford, 
and  sc  me  gamed  the  interior.  He  had  but  forty  men  left, 
but  put  to  sea  notwithstanding,  and  sailed  to  Amboyna. 

The  name  of  Kidd  vas  now  the  terror  of  the  Indian  seas, 
and  indeed  famous,  or  rather  nfamous,  all  over  the  civilized 
world.  His  piracies  had  created  so  much  alarm  among  the 
English  merchants,  that  several  motions  were  made  in  Par- 
liment  to  inquire  respecting  the  commission  he  had  obtained, 
and  the  conduct  of  the  persons  who  had  fitted  him  out.  Public 
indignation  pointed  particularly  at  Lord  Bellamont,  and  that 
nobleman  thought  it  incumbent  on  him  to  publish  an  account 
of  his  proceedings.  In  the  meanwhile  it  was  deemed  proper 
to  issue  a  proclamation,  offering  the  King’s  free  pardon  to  all 
such  pirates  as  should  surrender  themselves  before  the  last  day 
of  April,  sixteen  hundred  and  ninety  nine,  of  whatever  crimes 
they  might  have  been  guilty.  This  amnesty,  however,  only 
extended  to  misdemeanors  committed  east  of  the  Cape  of 
Good  Hope,  as  far  as  the  meridians  of  Soccatara  and  Cape 
Cormorin,  and  Kidd  was  excepted,  by  name. 

It  was  on  his  arrival  at  Amboyna  that  he  first  learned  that 
his  fame  had  reached  England,  and  that  he  was  esteemed  a  pi¬ 
rate,  but  it  is  probable  that  he  heard  nothing 'of  the  proclama¬ 
tion,  otherwise  his  subsequent  conduct  appears  like  insanity. 
He  had  found  sundry  French  documents  on  board  the  ships  he 
had  captured,  and  imagined  that  he  could  so  use  them  as  to 
give  his  deeds  the  sanction  of  law.  He  relied,  too,  upon  the 
protection  of  Lord  Bellamont,  and  flattered  himself  that  his 
booty  would  gain  him  new  friends;  well  knowing  that  wealth, 
like  charity,  is  a  cloak  for  many  sins.  Thinking,  therefore, 
that  his  doings  would  be  hushed  up,  and  that  Justice  would 
wink  at  him,  he  sailed  directly  to  New  York.  He  had  no 
sooner  arrived,  than  he  was  taken  into  custody  by  order  of 
the  Lord  Bellamont,  and  his  papers  and  effects  were  secured. 

About  this  time,  many  of  his  fellow  adventurers,  hearing 
of  the  royal  proclamation  before  mentioned,  came  to  Ameri¬ 
ca,  and  surrendered  themselves  to  the  proper  authorities. 
These  were  the  men  who  had  forsaken  Kidd  at  Madagascar. 
On  their  surrender  they  were  at  first  admitted  to  bail,  but  soon 
after  they  were  strictly  confined,  in  order  to  be  sent  to  Eng¬ 
land  with  Kidd,  for  trial. 

Accordingly,  Kidd  was  arraigned  at  the  Old  Baily,  for  pira¬ 
cy,  and  for  the  murder  of  Moor,  the  gunner,  in  May,  seventeen 


ROBERT  KIDD. 


37 


hundred  and  one.  Nicholas  Churchill,  James  How,  Robert 
Lumley,  William  Jenkins,  Gabriel  LofF,  Hugh  Parrot,  Rich¬ 
ard  Barleycorn,  Abel  Owens,  and  Darby  Mullins,  were  at  the 
same  time  arraigned  for  piracy. 

Kidd,  on  his  trial,  insisted  much  on  his  own  innocence,  and 
the  wickedness  of  his  crew.  He  said  that  he  had  embraced 
a  laudable  business,  and  had  had  no  need  to  increase  his  store 
by  piracy,  having  been  in  good  circumstances  and  repute.  He 
stated  that  his  men  had  often  mutinied,  and  had  threatened  to 
shoot  him  in  his  cabin;  and  moreover,  that  ninety-five  had  de¬ 
serted  him  at  one  time,  and  had  burned  his  boat,  so  that  he  had 
been  unable  to  bring  home  his  ship,  or  the  prizes  he  had  ta¬ 
ken,  in  order  that  they  might  be  condemned  in  a  regular  man¬ 
ner.  He  affirmed  that  they  were  French  vessels,  furnished 
with  French  papers,  and  had  been  lawfully  captured,  by  vir¬ 
tue  of  his  commission. 

Being  accused  of  aiding  and  comforting  Culliford,  who  was 
notorious  as  a  pirate,  he  denied  the  fact,  and  said  that  he 
meant  to  have  taken  him,  but  that  his  men  had  refused  obe¬ 
dience,  and  many  of  them  had  even  deserted  to  Culliford.  But 
the  evidence  on  this  particular  was  full  and  particular. 

He  called  one  Colonel  Hewson  to  testify  that  he  had  always 
borne  a  good  character.  This  witness  declared  that  he  had 
formerly  served  under  Kidd,  and  had  been  with  him  in  two 
battles  with  French  vessels,  in  which  his  skill  and  courage 
could  not  be  too  much  praised.  In  one  case  Kidd,  with  two 
vessels  only,  had  given  battle  to  a  squadron  of  six  sail,  and 
had  the  better  of  them.  But  this  testimony  was  foreign  to 
the  matter,  as  it  related  to  a  period  several  years  belore  the 
acts  mentioned  in  the  indictment  were  committed,  and  was  of 
no  service  to  Kidd. 

Our  pirate  was  found  guilty  of  both  indictments.  When 
he  was  asked  why  sentence  of  death  should  not  be  pronounced 
against  him,  he  replied,  u  that  he  had  nothing  to  say,  but  that 
perjured  wicked  people  had  sworn  against  him.5’  When  sen¬ 
tence  was  pronounced,  he  exclaimed  u  My  Lord!  it  is  a  very 
hard  sentence.  I  am  the  most  inpocent  of  them  all;  but  the 
witnesses  have  perjured  themselves.” 

Churchill  and  How  pleaded  the  royal  pardon,  and  proved 
that  they  had  surrendered  to  Colonel  Bass,  governor  of  Jer¬ 
sey.  This  plea  was  overruled  by  the  court,  on  the  ground 
that  four  commissioners  had  been  named  in  the  proclamation 


38 


ROBERT  KIDD. 


6  receive  the  submission  of  pirates,  and  that  no  other  person 
could  receive  their  surrender.  Wherefore,  as  the  prisoners 
had  not  complied  with  the  strict  letter  of  the  proclamation, 
they  were  not  entitled  to  its  benefits. 

Mullins  urged  in  his  defence,  that  Kidd  was  his  lawful  supe¬ 
rior,  having  the  king’s  commission,  and  that  he  could  not  have 
disobeyed  his  commander  without  incurring  severe  punish¬ 
ment.  He  said  that  seamen  were  never  allowed  to  call  their 
officers  to  account,  or  to  question  their  orders;  if  they  were, 
there  would  be  an  end  of  all  discipline.  He  thought  that  if 
anything  unlawful  were  done,  the  officers  should  answer  for 
it,  as  the  men  did  no  more  than  their  duty  in  obeying  their 
commands. 

He  was  told  by  the  court,  that  acting  under  the  king’s  com¬ 
mission  justified  obedience  in  all  things  lawful,  but  not  in 
things  unlawful. 

He  answered,  that  he  needed  no  justification  in  doing  law¬ 
ful  things,  but  that  the  case  of  seamen  was  very  hard,  if  they 
were  to  risk  their  lives  by  obeying  their  officers,  and  at  the 
same  time  be  liable  to  punishment  for  disobedience.  If  they 
were  allowed  to  dispute  their  orders,  there  would  be  no  such 
things  at  sea  as  order  and  subordination. 

This  defence  seems  very  plausible,  and  if  Mullins  obeyed 
illegal  orders,  through  ignorance  or  a  sense  of  duty,  it  would 
seem  unjust  that  he  should  be  punished  for  it;  but  it  was  prov¬ 
ed  that  he  had  taken  a  share  of  the  plunder.  It  appeared, 
moreover,  that  the  crew  of  the  Adventure  had  mutinied  seve¬ 
ral  times;  whence  it  appeared  that  they  did  not  obey  Kidd  on 
account  of  the  king’s  commission,  but  as  a  pirate  chief,  and 
that  they  had  behaved  in  all  things  like  pirates  and  freeboot¬ 
ers.  These  considerations  moved  the  jury  to  find  Mullins 
guilty,  like  the  rest. 

Previous  to  his  execution,  Kidd’s  hardihood  forsook  him, 
and  he  made  confession'  of  his  crimes.  About  a  week  after 
sentence  was  pronounced  he  was  hanged  at  Execution  Dock, 
together  with  Churchill,  How,  Loff,  Parrot,  Owens,  and  Mul¬ 
lins.  When  they  were  dead,  they  were  hanged  in  chains, 
at  some  distance  from  each  other,  along  the  banks  of  the 
Thames,  and  there  the  bodies  remained  exposed  many  years. 

These  are  the  principal  events  in  the  life  of  this  notorious 
freebooter.  How  it  should  be  a  generally  received  opinion 
that  he  haunted  the  coast  of  America,  or  how  it  should  be  be¬ 
lieved  that  he  sailed  up  the  North  River,  and  hid  money 


SAMUEL  BELLAMY. 


39 


there,  and  at  other  places,  we  cannot  explain,  for  there  is  no 
evidence  that  he  committed  any  crime  in  any  part  of  the  At¬ 
lantic.  Yet  such  is  a  very  common  belief,  to  which  no  less  a 
person  than  Washington  Irving,  has  given  his  sanction.  Per¬ 
haps  tradition  has  blended  his  lawful  exploits  in  the  West  In¬ 
dies  with  his  piracies  in  the  Indian  Ocean.  On  account  of 
this  opinion,  we  have  given  him  a  place  in  this  work. 


CAPT.  SAMUEL  BELLAMY. 

We  call  this  man  Captain  because  he  was  generally  known 
by  that  title;  not  that  pirates  and  robbers  are  entitled  to  any 
such  honorable  appellation.  His  origin  is  unknown,  but  it  is 
supposed  that  he  belonged  to  Boston. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  in  the  year  1661,  William 
Phipps,  afterwards  Sir  William,  and  Governor  of  Massachu¬ 
setts,  made  his  fortune  by  fishing  up  bullion  from  a  Spanish 
vessel,  that  had  been  lost  on  one  of  the  sunken  reefs  in  the 
West  Indies. 

While  we-see  the  gold  mine  fever  raging  so  violently  in  the 
southern  States,  and  when  we  observe  so  many  lottery  offices 
open,  in  our  own  times,  it  need  not  excite  wonder  that  men  in 
those  days  were  found,  who  were  ready  to  renounce  the 
small,  though  sure  profits  of  honest  industry,  for  the  pre¬ 
carious  prospect  of  sudden  wealth.  The  successs  of  Sir 
William  Phipps,  caused  many  golden  dreams  in  New  England, 
and  several  vessels  sailed  from  our  coast  with  the  avowed  in¬ 
tention  of  fishing  up  Fortune  from  the  bottom  of  the  ocean. 
The  adventure  of  Phipps  was  no  idle  speculation;  he  knew 
that  a  vessel  laden  with  specie  had  been  lost,  and  was  toler¬ 
ably  well  informed  of  the  spot  where  she  lay;  but  the  after 
adventurers  had  no  such  grounds  of  hope,  and  consequently 
found  their  expectations  no  better  than  moonshine  in  the 
water. 

Bellamy  was  one  of  these.  He  had  been,  in  company  with 
one  called  Williams,  in  search  of  another  Spanish  wreck,  and 
had  been  disappointed.  After  engaging  in  such  gambling  spec¬ 
ulations,  men  are  seldom  willing  to  return  to  the  regular  pur¬ 
suits  of  life;  and,  therefore,  these  worthies,  in  order  to  be  rich 


40 


SAMUEL  BELLAMY. 


at  once,  agreed  “  to  go  on  the  account” — a  cant  term,  by 
which  pirates  designate  their  nefarious  occupation.  The  first 
who  fell  into  their  hands  was  a  Captain  Prince,  bound  from 
Jamaica  to  London,  with  a  rich  cargo,  and  a  fine  vessel, 
adapted  to  the  purposes  of  marine  warfare.  She  was  called 
The  Whidow.  A  part  of  her  crew  joined  Bellamy,  making 
his  crew  amount,  in  all,  to  an  hundred  and  fifty  men.  He 
armed  her  with  twenty-eight  guns,  so  that  she  was  one  of  the 
strongest  piratical  vessels  that  ever  cruised  on  the  coast  of 
the  United  States.  This  adventure  took  place  in  the  month 
of  February,  seventeen  hundred  and  seventeen. 

Thus  provided,  Bellamy  steered  to  the  shores  of  Virginia, 
where  he  took  several  vessels.  He  had,  at  the  outset,  like 
to  have  been  cut  off  in  his  course  of  iniquity,  for  the  Whidow 
was  very  near  being  lost  in  a  storm.  At  the  first  appearance 
of  bad  weather  Bellamy  took  in  sail;  which  was  scarcely 
done,  when  a  squall  struck  the  ship  and  threw  her  on  her 
beam  ends.  However,  she  righted,  and  as  the  wind  increas¬ 
ed  toward  night,  the  top  and  topgallant  yards  were  sent  down, 
and  she  ran  before  the  wind  under  her  forsail  only,  and  finally 
under  bare  poles.  Four  men  at  the  tiller  and  two  at  the 
wheel,  could  scarcely  keep  her  from  broaching  to,  which  she 
was  nigh  doing  more  than  once.  As  the  darkness  thickened 
around,  the  horror  of  their  situation  became  more  apparent. 
The  darkness  of  the  night  was  total — such  as,  to  use  a  quota¬ 
tion  from  holy  writ,  “  might  be  felt,” — and  was  only  broken 
by  the  blinding  and  incessant  flashes  of  lightning.  Every  sea 
washed  the  deck,  and  tremendous  claps  of  thunder  seemed 
to  itimate  the  wrath  of  the  Supreme.  It  might  be  supposed 
that  thisjaring  of  the  elements  would  have  awakened  contri¬ 
tion  in  the  breasts  of  these  unhappy  wretches,  but  instead  of 
this,  they  endeavoured  to  drown  the  voice  of  sea  and  air 
with  ribaldry,  and  the  most  atrocious  blasphemies.  Bellamy 
swore  that  he  was  sorry  he  could  not  run  out  his  guns  to  return 
the  salute,  meaning  the  thunder.  He  said  he  belieVed  the  Gods 
had  got  drunk,  and  were  gone  together  by  the  ears  over  their  * 
tipple.  We  will  not  repeat  more  of  his  impiety.  They  con¬ 
tinued  scudding  all  night,  and  the  next  morning,  finding  the 
mainmast  sprung  in  the  step,  they  were  obliged  to  c  ut  it  away, 
and  at  the  same  time  the  mizzen  went  by  the  boaid.  These 
mishaps  renewed  the  blasphemies  of  the  pirates,  and  their 
vociferations  became  louder  when  they  found,  by  trying  the 
pumps,  that  the  ships  made  a  great  deal  of  water;  though  by 
constant  laboi  they  could  keep  it  from  gaining  on  them.  The 


SAMUEL  BELLAMY. 


41 


sloop  in  which  Bellamy  had  at  first  sailed,  and  which  still  ac¬ 
companied  him,  was  abandoned  to  the  mercy  of  the  winds,  but 
did  not  lose  her  mast.  The  wind  shifted  all  round  the  compass, 
making  a  short  and  outrageous  sea,  so  that  their  expectations 
of  outliving  the  gale  were  small.  One  surge  broke  upon  the 
stern,  drove  in  the  tafferel,  and  washed  two  men  away  from 
the  helm,  who  were,  however,  saved  by  the  hammock  nettings. 
Thus  the  sea  continued  to  rage  four  days  and  three  nights, 
when  it  abated  of  its  fury. 

As  the  weather  was  now  clearing  up,  and  the  wind  hourly  de¬ 
creasing,  Bel’  imy  spoke  the  sloop,  and  finding  that  she  was  not 
damaged,  determined  to  steer  for  the  coast  of  Carolina.  But 
the  wind  suti  '.enly  shifting  to  the  southward,  he  resolved  to 
change  his  coarse  and  sail  to  Rhode  Island.  The  Window’s 
leak  still  continued,  and  it  was  as  much  as  all  the  pumps  could 
do  to  keep  the  water  from  gaining.  Upon  examination  it  was 
found  to  be  owing  to  the  oakum  having  worked  out  of  a  seam, 
which  was  easily  remedied.  Having  set  up  jurymasts,  they 
became  very  merry  again,  especially  as  the  sloop  had  received 
no  other  injury  than  the  loss  of  her  mainsail,  which  was  torn 
out  of  the  boltropes  when  the  squall  first  struck  her.  Hav¬ 
ing  reached  the  waters  of  Rhode  Island,  about  the  first  of  April, 
their  first  exploit  was  to  take  a  sloop  belonging  to  Boston,  com¬ 
manded  by  a  Captain  Beer.  While  they  plundered  his  ves¬ 
sel,  they  detained  Beer  on  board  the  Window.  Williams  and 
Bellamy  would  have  returned  the  vessel,  but  their  men  would 
not  consent  to  it;  for  where  the  commander  has  no  virtue,  and 
has  forfeited  all  claim  to  respect,  there  is  never  any  obedience. 
So  they  sunk  the  vessel,  and  put  Beer  ashore  on  Block  Island. 

A  conversation  that  took  place  between  Beer  and  Bellamy, 
proves  the  latter  to  have  been  an  acute,  though  ignorant  man. 
u  I  am  sorry  they  won’t  let  you  have  your  sloop  again,”  said 
he,  “  for  I  scorn  to  do  any  one  a  mischief  when  it  is  not  of 
any  advantage  to  me.  D — n  the  sloop;  why  must  they  sink 
her,  when  she  might  be  of  use  to  you.  But  you  are  a  sneak¬ 
ing  puppy,  and  so  are  all  those  who  will  submit  to  be  govern¬ 
ed  by  laws  that  rich  men  have  made  for  their  own  safety. 
They  get  what  they  have  by  lying  and  tricking,  and  have’nt 
the  spunk  to  defend  it  any  other  way.  D — n  you  altogether 
D — n  them  for  a  pack  of  crafty  rascals,  and  you  that  serve 
them,  for  a  pack  of  henhearted  numskulls.  They  run  us  down, 
the  scoundrels  do,  when  there  is  only  this  difference  between 
us,  that  they  rob  the  poor  under  cover  of  the  law,  and  we  plun¬ 
der  them  with  no  protection  but  our  own  courage.  Had  you 


42 


SAMUEL  BELLAMY. 


not  better  make  one  of  us,  than  sneak  after  such  villains  for 
employment  ?  ” 

Beer  replied,  that  his  conscience  would  not  suffer  him  to 
break  the  laws  of  God  and  man. 

“You  are  a  devilish  conscience  rascal!”  rejoined  the  pirate 
u  I  am  a  free  prince,  and  I  have  as  much  right  to  make  wai 
on  the  world,  as  he  that  has  a  hundred  sail  at  sea,  and  an  ar¬ 
my  of  an  hundred  thousand  men  ashore.  My  conscience  tells 
me  that.  But  there  is  no  arguing  with  such  snivelling  pup¬ 
pies,  that  allow  superiors  to  kick  them  about  the  deck  as  they 
please.” 

It  should  be  remarked  that  though  the  sentiments  of  this 
honest  captain  were  certainly  ultra  liberal,  his  logic  was 
inspired  with  additional  force  by  a  case  bottle,  which  he  held 
in  his  hand  all  the  while  he  was  speaking. 

The  damage  of  the  Whidow  they  soon  found  means  to  re¬ 
pair,  and  then  cruised  off  Cape  Cod,  where,  a  fortnight  after 
setting  Captain  Beer  on  shore,  they  took  a  vessel  laden  with 
wine,  which  was  a  most  acceptable-  windfall;  qnd  the  crew 
served  to  increase  the  number  of  their  prisoners.  They  put 
a  prize  master  and  seven  men  on  board,  and  ordered  her  to 
keep  company  with  the  Whidow.  They  then  steered  to  Pe¬ 
nobscot  river  to  careen. 

When  they  reached  the  mouth  of  the  Penobscot,  Bellamy 
concluded  that  the  river  St.  George  was  a  more  suitable 
place,  and  entered  it  accordingly,  with  the  three  vessels 
They  ran  up  about  two  miles  and  a  half,  and  came  to  anchor 
The  next  morning  they  sent  their  prisoners  on  shore,  under 
drivers  armed  with  whips,  like  slaves,  and  commanded  them 
to  build  huts.  They  also  raised  a  battery  on  each  side  of  the 
river,  and  sent  their  guns  on  shore.  This  occupied  four  days. 
The  prisoners,  whom  they  treated  very  barbarously,  were  then 
compelled  to  dig  a  magazine  and  to  put  a  roof  upon  it.  Theii 
ammunition  thus  secured,  they  first  hove  down  the  sloop,  anc 
cleaned  her,  and  then  the  Whidow. 

When  these  operations  were  completed,  Bellamy  sailed  foi 
Newfoundland,  where  he  made  several  prizes.  Pie  sunk  them 
all,  and  detained  the  crews.  They  had  not  been  long  on  the 
banks  before  the  piratical  squadron  was  separated  by  a  storm, 
which  lasted  several  days.  When  it  was  over,  Bellamy  de 
scried  a  sail,  off  the  Island  of  St.  Paul,  and  immediately  gave 
chase.’  The  vessel  lay  to,  and  waited  for  the  Whidow.  She 
proved  to  be  a  French  frigate,  of  thirty  six  guns,  carrying 
troops  to  Quebec.  Bellamy  gave  her  his  broadside,  which  was 


SAMUEL  BELLAMY. 


43 


promptly  returned,  and  the  action  was  kept  up  for  two  hours, 
with  great  spirit  on  both  sides.  The  Whidow  was  twice  board¬ 
ed,  and  at  last  Bellamy,  finding  himself  overmatched,  would 
have  shaken  his  enemy  off.  This  was  not  so  easy  a  matter, 
for  the  Frenchman  gave  chase,  and  as  he  sailed  full  as  well  as 
the  Whidow,  the  pirate  must  have  received  the  punishment 
due  to  his  transgressions,  had  not  the  night  favored  his  es¬ 
cape.  The  loss  on  board  the  rover,  proves  how  obstinately 
the  battle  was  contested:  Thirty  six  of  the  crew  were  killed 
outright,  and  a  great  many  were  wounded. 

Returning  to  Newfoundland,  Bellamy  rejoined  his  consorts 
off  Placentia  Bay;  when  they  held  a  council,  and  agreed  to  re¬ 
turn  to  the  coast  of  New  England,  as  the  Whidow  had  suffer¬ 
ed  severely  in  the  last  engagement,  and  had  a  great  many 
shot  holes  in  her  hull.  They  ran  down  the  coast,  and  took  a 
vessel  called  the  Mary  Anne,  between  St.  George’s  Banks 
and  Nantucket  Shoals. 

Williams  still  retained  command  of  the  wine  vessel,  on 
board  which  her  rightful  master  remained.  He  was  well  ac¬ 
quainted  with  the  coast,  and  Williams  compelled  him  to  act  as 
pilot,  keeping  him  constantly  at  the  helm.  He  was  determin¬ 
ed  on  revenge,  and  one  night  when  Williams  and  his  men  were 
intoxicated,  according  to  custom,  he  ran  the  ship  ashore  near 
the  table  land  of  Wellfleet,  on  Cape  Cod.  The  night  was 
dark,  and  the  wind  high:  every  soul  on  board,  excepting  the 
pilot,  perished;  an  example,  if  an  example  were  needed,  of 
the  evils  and  dangers  of  intemperance. 

The  Whidow,  following  in  the  wake  of  her  consort,  was 
wrecked  in  the  same  manner,  and  all  of  her  company,  but  two, 
lost  their  lives.  It  is  supposed,  that  when  the  Whidow  first 
struck,  the  pirates  murdered  all  their  prisoners  and  impressed 
men,  as  many  of  the  bodies,  came  on  shore  shockingly  man¬ 
gled.  The  sloop  ran  ashore  on  a  sandy  beach,  and  five  of 
her  crew  landed  and  escaped  into  the  country.  Captain  Cyp¬ 
rian  Southack  was  sent  in  search  of  them  by  the  government 
of  Massachusetts. 

He  arrived  at  Wellfleet  just  after  the  sea  had  forced  a  pas¬ 
sage  across  the  cape,  and  made  such  a  channel  that  he  pass¬ 
ed  through  it  in  a  whale  boat.  This  channel  was  soon  closed, 
and  has  ever  since  been  kept  so,  by  the  attention  of  the  in¬ 
habitants,  or,  it  is  probable,  that  twenty  or  thirty  miles  of  the 
extremity  of  this  wonderful  arm  of  land  would  have  been 
washed  away  long  before  this  time. 

Captain  Southack  found  and  buried  the  bodies  of  an  hun¬ 
dred  and  fifty  two  me  a,  pirates  and  others,  which  had  been 


44 


SAMUEL  BELLAMY. 


washed  on  shore.  Of  those  captured,  six  were  tried  in  Bos¬ 
ton  by  a  special  court  of  admiralty,  convicted,  condemned,  and 
executed.  They  were  all  foreigners,  the  dregs  of  mankind. 
Most  of  our  Bostonian  readers  will  remember  a  number  of 
posts,  between  low  and  high  water  marks,  at  the  foot  of  Copp’s 
Hill,  east  and  north  of  Charlestown  bridge;  in  short,  where  the 
boys  of  the  North  End  were  wont  to  bathe.  They  were  the 
stumps  of  the  gibbets  on  which  these  felons  were  executed. 
Five  of  them  died  penitent,  the  sixth  behaved  with  unexam¬ 
pled  contumacy.  When  asked  if  he  had  anything  to  say,  he 
kicked  off  his  shoes,  saying,  “  that  his  mother  always  said  he 
would  die  with  his  shoes  on,  and  he  was  resolved  to  make  a 
liar  of  her.” 

Thus  ended  Samuel  Bellamy,  and  his  crew.  F rom  the  clear¬ 
ness  of  the  water,  and  the  whiteness  of  the  sandy  bottom,  ob¬ 
jects  can  be  seen  at  a  great  depth  about  the  spot  where  he  was 
wrecked.  Even  to  this  day,  the  great  caboose  of  the  Whidow 
is  sometimes  discovered,  as  the  loose  sand  in  which  it  is  im¬ 
bedded  is  shifted  from  place  to  place  by  the  turbulence  of  the 
sea.  Some  of  the  coppers  of  the  reign  of  William  and  Ma¬ 
ry,  and  specimens  of  cob  dollars,  are  still  occasionally  found 
on  the  beach. 

4 

For  many  years  after  the  shipwreck  of  the  good  ship  Whi¬ 
dow,  a  man  of  singular  and  frightful  aspect,  used  every  spring 
and  autumn  to  be  seen  travelling  on  the  cape,  who  was  suppos¬ 
ed  to  have  been  one  of  Bellamy’s  crew.  The  piesumption  is, 
that  he  went  to  some  place  where  money  had  been  secreted  by 
the  pirates,  to  get  such  a  supply  as  his  exigencies  required. 
When  he  died,  many  pieces  of  gold  were  found  sewed  in  a  gir¬ 
dle  which  he  constantly  wore  about  him. 

As  late  as  the  beginning  of  the  present  century,  aged  peo¬ 
ple  used  to  relate,  that  this  man  frequently  spent  the  night  in 
private  houses,  and  that  whenever  the  Bible  or  any  religious 
book  was  produced,  or  family  devotions  were  performed,  he 
invariably  left  the  room.  It  is  also  stated,  that  during  the  night, 
it  would  seem  as  if  he  had  a  legion  from  the  lower  world  in  his 
chamber;  for  much  conversation  was  overheard,  of  an  extreme¬ 
ly  profane,  boisterous,  and  blasphemous  character.  These 
things  might  have  been  the  natural  results  of  the  habits  of  a 
veteran  pirate.  The  probability  is,  that  the  recollection  of  the 
bloody  scenes  in  which  be  had  been  engaged  disturbed  his 
sleep,  and  that  he  involun;  arily  gave  vent  to  such  exclamations 
as  might,  with  the  aid  of  an  imagination  on  the  watch  for  su¬ 
pernatural  occurrences,  give  rise,  in  those  days,  to  the  cur¬ 
rent  opinion  that  his  bed  chamber  was  the  resort  of  internals. 


WILLIAM  FLY. 


The  origii.  of  this  villain  remains  in  obscurity;  which  is  a 
matter  of  little  consequence,  as  it  is  certain  that  he  was  bru¬ 
tally  ignorant,  and  wholly  unfit  to  command  even  a  band  of 
pirates,  unless  his  cruelty  and  blood  thirstiness  may  be  consid¬ 
ered  a  qualification.  Of  all  the  miscreants  that  have  disgra¬ 
ced  their  kind,  not  one  is  known  to  have  been  more  bloody 
and  remorseless,  than  William  Fly. 

In  April,  seventeen  hundred  and  twenty  six,  the  snow  Eliza¬ 
beth  Snow,  of  Bristol,  was  preparing  to  sail  from  Jamaica  to 
the  coast  of  Guinea.  Mr.  Green,  the  master,  shipped  this  Fly 
as  boatswain.  It  seems  that  he  had  been  a  pirate  before,  and 
having  escaped  justice,  he  had  now  an  opportunity  of  getting 
an  honest  living,  and  of  attaining  some  small  preferment,  of 
which  he  was  very  ambitious. 

Immediately  after  sailing,  Fly  sounded  the  crew,  severally, 
and  found  most  of  them  birds  of  his  own  feather;  ripe  for  any 
guilt  he  might  devise.  As  he  thus  found  tools  ready  to  his 
hands,  he  conspired  with  them  to  seize  the  vessel  and  kill  the 
officers.  This  done,  he  proposed  to  assume  the  command,  and 
renew  his  trade  of  piracy.  His  brethren  in  iniquity  fully  con¬ 
curred  with  him. 

On  the  twenty-seventh  of  May,  Fly  went  up  to  Maurice 
Condon,  the  man  at  the  helm,  accompanied  by  Alexander 
Mitchell,  Henry  Hill,  Samuel  Cole,  Thomas  Winthrop,  and 
other  conspirators.  Putting  a  pistol  to  Condon’s  head,  Fly 
swore,  that  if  he  uttered  a  syllable  or  stired  hand  or  foot,  he 
would  blow  his  brains  out  on  the  spot.  Then,  leaving  a  sen¬ 
try  over  Condon,  he  tucked  up  lys  sleeves,  and  went  with 
Mitchel  into  the  captain’s  cabin,  with  a  naked  cutlass  in  his 
hand.  He  told  the  captain,  that  he  was  captain  no  longer, 
and  must  turn  out.  Captain  Green  asked  what  was  the  matter ; 
and  was  answered  by  Mitchell,  that  they  had  no  time  to  an¬ 
swer  impertinent  questions,  and  that  if  he  would  turn  out  and 
go  on  deck  quietly,  it  would  save  them  the  trouble  of  scraping 
the  cabin;  but  if  he  would  not,  then  a  few  buckets  of  water 
and  a  scraper  would  take  his  blood  out  of  the  floor;  that  they 
had  chosen  Captain  Fly  for  their  commander,  and  would  have 
no  other.  He  said,  furthermore,  that  they  were  resolved  not 
to  waste  their  provisions  to  feed  useless  mouths. 


46 


WILLIAM  FLY. 


Mr.  Green  said,  that  since  such  was  their  resolution,  he  would 
make  no  resistance.  He  only  begged  that  they  would  spare 
his  life;  as  it  would  be  no  obstacle  to  their  designs.  He  said 
that  he  had  never  treated  any  of  them  harshly,  and  that  there¬ 
fore  they  could  not  kill  him  out  of  revenge.  If  they  wished 
to  do  so  for  their  own  security,  he  gave  his  word  that  he  would 
oppose  them  in  nothing.  If  they  were  not  satisfied  with  the 
pledge,  he  desired  them  to  keep  him  in  irons  till  they  came  to 
some  place  where  they  might  conveniently  put  him  on  shore. 

u  Ay,”  said  Fly,  u  to  live  and  hang  us,  if  we  are  ever  taken? 
No,  no;  that  bite  won’t  take.  It  has  hanged  many  an  honest 
fellow  already.  Walk  up!  walk  up.” 

Fly  and  Mitchel  then  laid  hands  on  him,  and  pulled  him  out 
of  bed.  The  poor  man  again  entreated  them  to  3pare  him,  for 
his  soul’s  sake,  and  he  would  bind  himself  by  the  most  sol¬ 
emn  oaths  never  to  appear  against  them.  He  continued  to 
plead  for  life,  mere  life,  in  terms,  that  had  these  monsters  been 
indeed  men  in  anything  but  form,  must  have  softened  them. 
He  said  that  he  was  unfit  to  appear  before  the  judgment  seat 
of  God;  that  he  was  loaded  with  sins,  and  that,  to  send  him  to 
that  awful  tribunal  before  these  were  washed  away  by  tears 
of  repentance,  would  be  cruelty  infinitely  greater  than  mere¬ 
ly  depriving  him  of  life,  since  without  having  given  them  any 
provocation,  they  would  consign  him  to  everlasting  misery. 
If  they  would  not  be  persuaded,  he  conjured  them  in  the  name 
of  their  fathers,  of  their  mothers,  and  of  all  they  held  in  rev¬ 
erence,  to  allow  him  time  to  prepare  for  so  great  a  change. 
He  asked,  he  said,  no  more  mercy  than  the  laws  would  allow 
them  in  case  they  should  be  taken  hereafter — But  it  was  all 
in  vain;  Mitchell  cut  his  pleading  short. 

“  D — n  your  blood,”  said  he,  “  no  preaching.  Be  d — nd,  if 
you  will;  what ’s  that  to  us?  Let  him  look  out  who  has  the 
watch.  On  deck, you  dog;  we’ll  lose  no  more  time  about  you.” 
i  They  then  dragged  him  into  the  steerage,  and  forced  him 
on  deck,  without  regard  to  his  prayers  and  supplications. 
Here  one  of  these  fiends  incarnate  asked  him,  if  he  would 
take  the  leap  like  a  brave  man,  or  be  tossed  overboard  like  a 
sneaking  rascal.  Then,  addressing  himself  to  Fly,  the  cap¬ 
tain  said,  u  Boatswain,  for  God  Almighty’s  sake,  do  not  throw 
•  me  overboard.  If  you  do,  I  am  lost  forever;  for  hell  will  as¬ 
suredly  be  the  portion  of  my  crimes.” 

|  “  D — n  him,”  said  Fly,  “  since  he’s  so  godly,  we’ll  give  him 

time  to  say  his  prayers,  and  I’ll  be  parson.  Say  after  me, 
*  Lord,  have  mercy  on  me.’  Short  prayers  are  best,  so  no 
more  words,  and  over  with  him.” 


Fly  and  Winthrop  killing  the  Mate. 


:  • 


' 


*jt  •  •  i . 

' 


* 


c  <  .  •  •* 


nn  ► 

/  ‘V 

'•  ■ 

S  .*  •  •  ' 

. 

*  .  /  ,  • 


" 


i 


•  ’ 


•s 


MC  !,  vt, 


* 

(>«•  it'  -*1  * 


WILLIAM  FLY. 


47 


The  Captain  still  implored  mercy,  and  begged  an  hour’s 
respite  only,  but  it  was  in  vain.  The  miscreants  seized  him 
and  threw  him  overboard.  He  caught  and  hung  by  the 
main  sheet,  which  when  Winthrop  saw,  he  brought  an  axe 
and  chopped  off  the  unhappy  victim’s  hand,  and  he  fell, 
and  sunk.  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  his  keen  sense  of  his  unwor¬ 
thiness  and  lost  condition,  will  be  found  acceptable,  and  be 
the  means  to  screen  him  from  the  punishment  he  so  much 
feared. 

The  Captain  being  thus  despatched,  Thomas  Jenkins,  the 
mate,  was  secured  and  brought  on  deck  to  undergo  the  same 
fate.  His  entreaties  were  as  useless  as  those  of  the  Captain 
had  been,  and  not  to  be  reversed;  for  he  was  in  the  hands  of 
those  who  knew  not  what  mercy*is.  His  executioners  were 
deaf  to  the  voice  of  supplication.  “  He  belongs  to  the 
Captain’s  mess,”  said  they,  u  so  let  them  drink  together.  It 
would  be  a  pity  to  part  such  good  company.” 

Thus  they  jested  with  his  agonies;  but  he  did  not  suffer 
so  patiently  as  the  Captain.  He  made  some  struggle,  which 
irritated  his  tormentors,  upon  which  Winthrop,  with  the  same 
axe  wherewith  he  had  chopped  off  the  Captain’s  hand,  gave  him 
a  deep  blow  on  the  shoulder,  and  he  was  instantly  thrown  into 
the  sea.  He  swam,  notwithstanding,  and  called  to  the  sur¬ 
geon  to  throw  him  a  rope.  The  surgeon  could  not  hear  him, 
for  he  was  laid  in  irons,  on  the  floor  of  his  own  cabin,  and  if 
he  could  have  heard,  and  had  thrown  him  a  rope,  it  is  not  to 
be  supposed  that  these  hardened  villains  would  have  suffered 
him  to  come  on  board  again.  But  the  drowning  catch  at 
straws,  and  hope  is  the  last  feeling  to  desert  us. 

The  conspirators  next  debated  what  should  be  done  with 
the  surgeon.  Some  were  for  sending  him  after  the  Captain 
and  mate,  but  the  majority  were  for  sparing  him,  as  he  was  a 
useful  man.  Their  work  now  done,  Mitchel  saluted  Fly  by 
the  title  of  Captain,  and,  with  the  rest  of  the  conspirators, 
gave  him  formal  possession  of  the  great  cabin. 

Here  the  conspirators  now  held  a  council  over  a  bowl  of 
punch.  They  sent  for  Condon,  the  carpenter,  and  one  Thom¬ 
as  Streaton,  and  on  their  appearance  Fly  addressed  them. 
He  told  them  that  they  were  three  rascals,  and  richly  deserv¬ 
ed  to  die,  but  that  he  was  nevertheless  disposed  to  be  mer¬ 
ciful,  and  would  only  put  them  in  irons,  for  the  security  of 
himself  and  his  crew.  Accordingly,  they  were  ironed.  Scarce¬ 
ly  had  this  measure  been  carried  into  effect,  when  the  coun¬ 
cil  was  broken  up  by  the  approach  of  another  ship,  the  Pom- 

3 


48 


WILLIAM  FLY. 


pey,  which  had  sailed  from  Jamaica  in  company  with  them 
The  Pompey  came  within  hail,  and  inquired  for  Captain 
Green,  and  Fly  replied,  that  he  was  very  well.  The  pirates 
did  not  dare  to  attack  this  vessel,  but  returned  to  their  con¬ 
sultation,  and  it  was  agreed  to  steer  for  the  coast  of  North 
Carolina. 

After  making  that  shore,  the  first  vessel  they  saw  was  the 
sloop  John  Hannah;  riding  at  anchor.  Captain  Fulker,  her 
commander,  thinking  the  Elizabeth  might  want  a  pilot,  went 
on  board  with  his  mate,  two  passengers,  and  a  boy,  and  offer¬ 
ed  his  services.  Fly  told  them  that  the  snow  was  from  Jamai¬ 
ca,  with  a  cargo,  and  asked  them  into  the  cabin  to  partake  of 
a  bowl  of  punch.  * 

When  the  punch  was  brought  in,  Fly  told  his  guests  that  u  he 
was  not  a  person  to  mince  matters.  He  and  his  comrades 
were  gentlemen  of  fortune,  and  they  would  majte  bold  to  try  if 
Mr.  Fulker’s  sloop  was  not  abetter  sailer  than  the  snow.  If 
she  should  prove  so,  she  was  better  adapted  to  their  business, 
and  they  would  have  her.”  The  Elizabeth  was  then  brought 
to  anchor,  about  a  league  from  the  sloop,  and  Fly  commanded 
Mr.  Fulker  to  take  his  boat,  with  six  of  his  own  hands,  to  the 
sloop,  and  bring  her  along  side  the  Elizabeth.  Fulker  com¬ 
plied,  but  the  wind  being  high  and  adverse,  he  could  not 
reach  the  sloop,  and  therefore  returned  to  the  Elizabeth.  As 
soon  as  he  came  on  board,  Fly  being  warm  with  liquor, 
fell  into  a  violent  passion,  and  cursed  and  abused  Mr.  Fulker 
for  not  bringing  off  the  sloop.  F  ulker  excused  himself,  say¬ 
ing  that  it  was  impossible.  “  You  lie,  you  dog,”  returned  the 
savage,  u  and  your  hide  shall  pay  for  your  roguery.  If  I 
can’t  bring  her  off,  I’ll  burn  her  where  she  lies.”  Then,  dis-  « 
regarding  reason  and  remonstrance,  he  ordered  Fulker  to  be 
tied,  and  whipped  him  in  a  very  inhuman  manner.  The 
boat’s  crew  were  again  despatched,  and  with  great  difficulty 
and  danger  gained  the  sloop’s  deck.  She  was  lying  within  a 
bar,  upon  which  the  pirates,  not  knowing  the  coast,  ran  her, 
and  she  bilged  and  sank.  The  disappointed  freebooters,  en¬ 
deavored  to  burn  that  part  of  the  hull  which  remained  out  of 
water,  but  did  not  succeed,  probably  owing  to  the  dashing  of 
the  spray. 

As  the  Elizabeth  was  making  sail,  Mr.  Fulker  and  his  com¬ 
panions  entreated  to  be  set  on  shore,  to  which  Fly  would  not 
listen,  but  he  promised  them  that  as  soon  as  he  should  have 
taken  some  vessel,  he  would  set  them  at  liberty.  He  then 
stood  off  the  coast;  and  on  the  next  day,  (the  sixth  of  June,) 


I 


WILLIAM  FLY.  49 

espied  a  ship  called  the  John  and  Betty,  to  which  he  gave 
chase.  Finding  that  she  outsailed  him,  he  hung  out  signals 
of  distress,  to  which  the  chase  gave  no  heed.  Fly  continued 
the  pursuit  all  night,  and  as  the  wind  slackened,  in  the  morning 
he  came  within  shot  of  her.  Hoisting  the  black  flag,  he  fired 
several  guns  at  the  John  and  Betty,  and  prepared1  to  board, 
when  she  struck.  Fly  boarded  the  prize  with  his  men,  all 
armed  to  the  teeth,  but  she  proved  of  small  value,  and  they 
only  took  from  her  a  quantity  of  sail  cloth  and  some  muskets. 
He  put  on  board  of  her  the  surgeon  of  the  Elizabeth,  Mr, 
Fulker,  and  one  of  his  passengers,  and  then  suffered  her  to 
proceed.  The  other  passenger,  whose  name  was  Atkinson, 
was  an  experienced  seaman,  well  acquainted  with  the  coast 
of  New  England,  and  Fly  resolved  to  detain  him  for  a  pilot. 
When  he  desired  to  be  permitted  to  accompany  the  others, 
the  pirate  refused,  with  horrid  oaths  and  imprecations; 
assuring  him,  at  the  same  time,  that  if  he  played  them  false, 
in  his  compelled  vocation,  his  life  should  be  the  forfeit. 

Atkinson  answered,  that  he  did  not  know  the  coast,  and  that 
it  was  hard  that  such  a  penalty  should  attach  to  the  mistakes 
of  his  ignorance.  He  therefore  again  begged  to  be  put  on 
board  the  John  and  Betty,  and  trust  to  their  own  knowledge, 
for  he  did  not  doubt  that  there  were  able  navigators  among 
them. 

“No,  no,”  said  Fly,  “that  won’t  do.  Your  palavering 
won’t  save  your  bacon.  Go  you  shan’t;  so  either  discharge 
your  duty  like  an  honest  man,  or  I’ll  send  you  to  the  devil, 
with  my  compliments.  So  no  more  words  about  it.” 

Fly  then  stood  for  the  coast  of  New  England.  Off  the 
Capes  of  Delware  he  gave  chase  to  a  sloop,  bound,  with  fifty 
passengers,  from  New  York  to  Philadelphia.  As  soon  as  the 
pirate  came  up,  she  struck,  and  Fly  ordered  Mr.  Atkinson, 
with  three  of  his  own  crew,  on  board,  to  sail  her,  but  he  would 
not  allow  Atkinson  any  arms.  But  after  searching  the  vessel, 
they  found  that  she  would  be  of  no  use  to  them.  So  they  im- 
pressed  one  of  her  hands,  and  then  let  her  go. 

Mr.  Atkinson  was  then  ordered  to  take  the  Elizabeth  into 
Martha’s  Vineyard,  but  he  purposely  missed  it;  for  which, 
when  Fly  found  himself  within  Nantucket,  Fly  was  much  ex¬ 
asperated.  “You  d— d  rascally  scoundrel,”  said  he,  “  it’s  a 
piece  of  cruelty  to  let  such  a  villain  live,  as  wants  to  take  the 
lives  of  so  many  honest  fellows.” 

Atkinson  answered,  that  he  had  never  pretended  to  know 
the  coast,  and  that  it  was  very  hard  their  good  opinion  of  his 


50 


WILLIAM  FLY. 


ability  should  be  the  cause  of  his  death.  Had  he  offered  to  be 
their  pilot,  without  knowing  his  business,  he  might  have 
merited  punishment;  but  as'he  was  forced  to  undertake,  upon 
affairs  which  he  declared  he  did  not  understand,  it  would  be 
cruel  to  make  him  suffer  for  their  own  mistake. 

u  You  are  an  obstinate  villain,”  cried  Fly,“  and  you  mean 
to  hang  us;  but,  blood  and  wounds,  you  dog,  you  shan’t  live 
to  see  it.” 

So  saying,  he  ran  to  the  cabin,  and  returned  with  a  pistol 
to  shoot  Atkinson.  Mitchell,  however,  who  thought  the  poor 
man  innocent  ofany  deceit,  interposed,  and  his  life  was  saved. 

Finding  himself  hourly  in  danger,  Atkinson  began  to  in¬ 
gratiate  himself  with  the  pirates,  giving  them  to  understand 
that  he  might,  perhaps,  be  induced  to  join  them,  by  good  usage. 
They  were  not  a  little  elated  at  the  prospect  of  having  so  able 
a  seaman  among  them,  and  some  even  intimated  that  if  he 
would  accept  the  command,  they  would  depose  Fly,  whose 
arrogance  displeased  them,  and  who,  they  were  well  aware, 
knew  nothing  of  navigation,  or,  indeed,  anything,  farther  than 
the  duty  of  a  boatswain.  Atkinson  did  not  altogether  dis¬ 
courage  their  hopes,  but  he  refused  to  hear  anything  about 
accepting  the  command.  This  conduct  induced  them  to 
treat  him  better,  and  to  protect  him  from  the  violence  and 
abuse  of  Fly,  who  had  more  than  once  proposed  to  cast  him 
into  the  sea,  supposing,  truly,  that  he  intended  to  betray 
them. 

The  Elizabeth  now  sailed  to  Brown’s  Bank,  and  on  the 
twenty-third  of  June  captured  a  fishing  schooner.  On  com¬ 
ing  up  with  this  vessel,  Fly  ran  up  the  black  flag,  fired  a 
gun,  and  swore  “  if  she  did  not  instantly  bring  to,  and  send 
her  boat  on  board,  he  would  sink  her.”  He  was  obeyed.  He 
examined  the  master  respecting  the  prospect  of  finding  other 
vessels,  and  promised  that  if  he  could  enable  him  to  take  a 
good  sailer,  he  would  give  him  back  his  schooner;  otherwise, 
he  would  keep  her.  The  man  told  him  that  he  had  a  consort 
that  would  soon  join  him,  and  was  a  much  better  vessel.  He 
spoke  the  truth:  in  a  few  hours  the  vessel  hove  in  sight,  and 
Fly  manned  his  prize  with  §ix  pirates,  and  sent  her  in  chase, 
remaining  himself  on  board  the  Elizabeth,  with  fifteen  impres¬ 
sed  men,  and  Atkinson,  who,  by  this  time,  had  gained  some¬ 
what  upon  his  good  graces. 

It  is  written  that  the  days  of  the  wicked  shall  be  short,  and 
it  seems  that  Heaven,  weary  of  the  crimes  of  William  Fly, 
prepared  to  make  the  promise  good.  Atkinson  seeing  that  the 


JASON  FAIRBANKS. 


51 


honest  men  were  more' numerous,  five  to  one,  than  the  thieves 
remaining  with  Fly,  thought  he  could  never  have  a  better 
chence  to  turn  the  tables  on  him.  Fortunately,  several  more 
fishing  vessels  came  in  sight,  right  ahead  of  the  Elizabeth, 
whereupon  Atkinson  desired  the  pirate  captain  to  come  forward 
with  his  glass.  Fly  left  his  arms  on  the  quarter  deck,  and 
coming  forward,  sat  down  on  the  windlass  to  look  out  ahead. 
Atkinson  and  three  more  instantly  took  possession  of  his  arms, 
and  laid  hands  on  him.  They  secured  him  with  little  trouble, 
and  then  mastered  the  other  three  pirates,  and  bound  them. 
They  then  brought  the  snow  to  the  Great  Brewster,  in  Boston 
Harbor,  on  the  "twenty-eighth  of  the  month.  It  should  be 
remarked  that  Mr.  Atkinson  effected  this  rescue  with  the  aid 
of  three  men  only,  not  having  had  an  opportunity  to  advise 
the  other  impressed  men  of  his  design. 

Thus,  in  less  than  two  months  from  its  commencement,  end¬ 
ed  the  sanguinary  career  of  this  obdurate  miscreant,  and  the 
closing  scene  was  soon  to  follow.  On  the  fourth  of  July 
following,  Fly  and  his  comrades  were  brought  before  a  special 
Court  of  Admirality,  at  which  Lieutenant  Governor  Sir  Wil¬ 
liam  Dummer  presided,  assisted  by  eighteen  of  the  council. 
They  were  found  guilty  of  piracy  and  murder,  and  condemned 
to  be  hung.  Fly  was  hanged  in  chains  on  one  of  the  islands 
in  Boston  Harbor.  The  names  of  the  three  inferior  pirates 
were,  Samuel  Cole,  George  Condick,  and  Henry  Greenvil. 


JASON  FAIRBANKS. 

This  unhappy  person  was  a  native  of  Dedham,  in  Massa¬ 
chusetts,  and  the  child  of  respectable,  though  poor  parents. 
His  constitution  was  weak  and  his  health  infirm,  so  much  so, 
that  from  his  tenth  year  upward  he  was  able  to  perform  little 
labor,  and  his  friends,  therefore,  sent  him  to  school  at  Wren- 
tham,  hoping  to  give  him  an  education  that  might  be  the  means 
of  his  future  support.  His  constitutional  infirmity  prevented 
him  from  prosecuting  his  studies,  and  he  returned  home. 
After  his  return  he  was  afflicted  by  a  pulmonary  complaint, 
which  increased  his  debility.  In  addition  to  all  this,  he  lost 
the  use  of  his  right  arm,  by  an  unsuccessful  inoculation  for 
the  small  pox. 


52 


JASON  FAIRBANKS. 


The  incidents  of  his  life  were  unimportant,  and  could  excite 
no  interest  excepting  so  far  as  they  are  connected  with  the 
tragedy  in  which  he  was,  fatally  for  himself,  an  actor.  These 
will,  we  opine,  be  best  elucidated  by  an  account  of  his  trial, 
which  began  on  the  sixth  of  August,  eighteen  hundred  and 
one,  before  the  Supreme  Judicial  Court  of  Massachusetts, 
held  in  Dedham.*  Fairbanks  was  at  this  time  twenty-one 
years  old. 

The  jury  presented,  that  Jason  Fairbanks  did,  on  the  eigh¬ 
teenth  of  May,  one  thousand  eight  hundred  and  one,  assault 
FJizabeth  Fales  with  a  knife;  and  gave  her  a  mortal  wound 
in  the  throat,  twro  inches  deep:  that  he  gave  her  another  mortal 
wound  in  the  back,  four  inches  deep:  that  he  gave  her  four 
mortal  wounds  in  her  back,  each  four  inches  deep:  another 
mortal  wound  in  her  left  side,  three  inches  deep:  six  mortal 
wmunds  on  her  left  arm:  two  mortal  w  ounds 'on  her  right  arm, 
and  one  mortal  wound  on  her  left  thumb:  of  all  of  which 
wmunds  the  said  Elizabeth  Fales  instantly  died.  To  this  in¬ 
dictment  the  prisoner  pleaded  not  guilty. 

The  first  witness  examined,  was  Dr.  Nathaniel  Ames.  His 
testimony  was  as  follows. 

On  the  eighteenth  of  May  he  went  to  the  place  where  the 
dead  body  of  Elizabeth  Fales  was  found.  The  windpipe  was 
cut  through,  and  the  wounds  on  her  breast  were  deep,  as  were 
those  on  the  left  arm.  Those  on  the  right  arm  were  mere 
scratches.  That  on  her  side  was  deep,  and  the  ball  of  her 
left  thumb  was  cut  almost  off.  The  witness  did  not  think  she 
could  have  survived  these  wounds,  and  was  of  opinion  that 
the  immediate  cause  of  her  death  was,  that  the  blood  had  flow¬ 
ed  from  the  gash  in  her  neck  into  her  vitals.  The  wound  in 
her  back  he  did  not  see  at  the  time,  but  afterwards  examined 
it,  and  found  it  a  small  one.  He  believed  she  might  have  in¬ 
flicted  it  herself,  and  thought  it  might  have  been  given  with  the 
knife  produced  in  court. 

Samuel  Fales ,  the  uncle  of  the  deceased,  said,  that  he  lived 
in  the  same  house  with  her.  At  about  three  o’clock,  on  the 
eighteenth  of  May,  he  saw  Jason  Fairbanks  standing  by  the 
house,  with  a  bloody  knife  in  his  hand.  His  throat  was  cut 
across,  and  he  had  several  stabs  in  his  body.  The  witness 
took  him  by  the  hand,  and  held  him  till  his  son  came,  whom 
he  desired  to  hold  him  till  some  other  person  should  arrive. 
Going  to  lyir.  Mason’s  pasture,  he  saw  his  niece  lying  on  the 
ground,  nearly  on  her  face,  with  her  arms  over  her  head. 
Her  father  came  up,  laid  his  hand  on  her  head  and  exclaimed, 


JASON  FAIRBANKS. 


53 


“  0  Betsey !”  when  she  turned  on  her  side.  The  witness  then 
asked  her  if  she  knew  what  hurt  her,  and  she  assented,  by 
signs.  Her  father  asked  if  she  wanted  water,  and,  in  the 
same  manner,  she  signified  that  she  did.  A  greatcoat,  be¬ 
longing  to  the  prisoner,  was  lying  near  her,  which  her  father 
desired  the  witness  to  put  under  her  head,  while  he  went  for 
water.  The  witness  took  her  shawl,  which  was  lying  on  the 
ground,  and  tied  it  round  her  neck,  to  see  if  she  could  swallow, 
which  she  could  not.  She  breathed  but  faintly.  There  was 
little  blood  near  her,  so  little  that  the  witness  thought  she  did 
not  lose  enough  to  cause  her  death.  She  was  dressed  in  a 
short,  loose  calico  gown,  and  a  green  skirt ;  her  shoes  were  off. 
Her  mother  came  to  the  spot  just  before  she  died,  which  was 
about  half  an  hour  from  the  time  Samuel  Fales  first  saw  her. 
There  was  a  pocketbook  near  her,  containing  receipts  and 
other  papers,  purporting  to  have  been  given  to  Jason  Fair¬ 
banks.  When  the  witness  first  saw  the  prisoner,  a  froth  was 
issuing  from  the  wound  in  his  neck,  and  he  held  him,  thinking 
he  was  insane,  and  might  do  some  mischief.  The  prisoner’s 
information  induced  him  to  go  to  Mr.  Mason’s  pasture.  The 
witness  was  not  permitted  to  say,  what  the  prisoner  had  told 
him. 

In  the  course  of  the  trial,  Samuel  Fales  was  called  again, 
and  said,  that  when  he  first  saw  the  deceased,  her  head  was  ly¬ 
ing  near  a  rough  sharp  stone,  and  that  the  bushes  about  her 
were  six  or  seven  feet  high.  A  little  distance  from  the  place, 
the  trees  and  bushes  were  very  thick.  Between  where  she 
was  lying,  and  the  place  where  Mr.  Fales  had  been  at  work, 
was  the  clearest  part  of  the  pasture,  and  he  thought  he  might 
have  seen  her  if  he  had  looked  in  that  direction.  She  was 
on  a  rising  ground. 

Doctor  Jonathan  Wild  bore  witness,  that  the  wound  on  the 
neck  of  the  deceased  was  in  a  circular  form,  round  her  neck, 
and  appeared  to  have  been  cut  with  one  stroke.  One  wound 
on  her  left  arm,  near  the  wrist,  was  severe,  and  would  have 
disabled  her  from  resisting  with  that  arm.  'f'he  wound  in  the 
neck  was  mortal. 

John  Endicott  described  the  wounds  as  the  other  witnesses 
had  done. 

The  Attorney  General  now  produced  the  clothes,  worn  by 
the  deceased  at  the  time  she  was  found  murdered,  and  the 
holes  in  them  corresponded  with  the  wounds  described.  Re¬ 
becca  Fales  and  Lydia  Whiting  swore,  that  they  had  taken  them 
off,  when  she  was  laid  out. 


54 


JASON  FAIRBANKS. 


Eunice  Lewis  testified  that  the  deceased  was  of  the  middling 
size,  and  that  she  had  always  thought  that  the  prisoner  and  she 
were  friends.  She  first  saw  Elizabeth  Fales  after  the  mur¬ 
der,  dead,  in  the  pasture.  She  verified  the  evidence  touch¬ 
ing  the  wounds.  When  she  assisted  to  lay  out  the  deceased, 
she  took  several  trifles  from  her  pockets,  but  no  knife,  or  other 
sharp  instrument. 

Doctor  Jibijah  Draper ,  describing  the  wounds,  stated  that 
the  one  on  her  hand  appeared  to  have  been  made  with  teeth, 
two  of  which  had  pierced  the  skin,  so  as  nearly  to  meet.  He 
did  not  examine  them. 

The  knife  taken  from  Fairbanks  was  then  exhibited  to 
Ephraim  Handy ,  who  swore  it  was  his,  and  that  he  had  lent  it 
to  the  prisoner,  in  the  morning  of  the  day  of  the  murder.  Fair¬ 
banks  borrowed  it  to  make  a  pen,  as  he  said,  and  the  witness 
commonly  used  it  for  the  same  purpose.  The  point  was  bro¬ 
ken  off  at  the  time.  He  saw  the  prisoner  again,  between  twelve 
and  one  o’clock,  at  his  father’s  house,  when  he  was  calm  and 
cheerful;  nothing  strange  appeared  in  his  conduct.  Witness 
heard  him  ask  his  brother  for  his  pocketbook.  When  Handy 
saw  his  knife  again,  it  was  in  the  hands  of  Dr.  Ames.  He 
did  not  know  that  any  intimacy  existed  between  Fairbanks  and 
Elizabeth  Fales,  though  he  had  lived  in  the  prisoner’s  father’s 
house  almost  a  year. 

Sarah  Fales ,  the  mother  of  the  murdered  girl,  deposed,  that 
after  the  murder  she  first  saw  Jason  Fairbanks,  at  about  three 
o’clock,  coming  into  the  yard  of  her  house,  with  a  bloody 
knife  in  his  hand,  which  he  gave  to  her.  She  gave  the  knife 
to  her  other  daughter,  and  asked  Fairbanks  what  horrid  thing 
he  had  been  doing.  Elizabeth  F ales  had  gone  from  home  be¬ 
tween  twelve  and  one  o’clock  to  borrow  a  book  at  Mr.  Guild’s. 
There  was  nothing  singular  in  her  conduct,  she  had  been 
washing,  and  was  gay  and  cheerful.  She  had  attended  church 
the  day  before.  Mrs.  Fales  never  knew  that  her  daughter 
was  attached  to  the  prisoner.  When  she  saw  her  again,  it  was 
in  Mason’s  pasture,  mortally  wounded,  as  before  described. 
Sne  did  not  know  that  Elizabeth  carried  any  sharp  instru¬ 
ment  with  her. 

Polly  Fales,  sister  of  Elizabeth,  testified  that  she  had  been 
in  company  with  the  deceased,  a  week  before  the  murder,  to 
the  house  of  the  prisoner’s  father,  and  that  Jason  let  them  in 
She  left  her  sister  alone  with  the  prisoner  about  an  hour.  Ja¬ 
son  had  attended  her  sister  and  others,  home  from  church,  the 
day  before  her  death.  The  witness  was  not  aware  of  any  at- 


JASON  FAIRBANKS. 


55 


tael  ment  between  them,  and  did  not  believe  there  was  any  on 
the  part  of  her  sister.  Fairbanks  was  not  particularly  atten¬ 
tive  to  the  deceased. 

Herman  Mann  had  found  some  pieces  of  paper  about  the 
body  of  Elizabeth  Fales,  after  her  death.  When  joined, 
these  fragments  appeared  to  be  the  certificate  of  a  publication 
of  banns,  between  the  prisoner  and  the  deceased.  It  was 
signed  with  the  name  of  the  town  clerk,  but  not  in  his  hand¬ 
writing. 

Susannah  Davis  swore  that  she  had  written  this  certificate, 
at  the  request  of  Jason  Fairbanks.  He  made  this  request  the 
day  before  the  murder,  saying,  that  he  had  forgotten  the  form 
of  such  certificates.  Miss  Davis  asked  whose  name  she  should 
insert,  and  he  replied,  u  any  of  the  Dedham  girls;”  whereup¬ 
on  she  said  she  would  put  in  Elizabeth  Fales.  Fairbanks  as¬ 
sented,  and  the  witness  inserted  the  name  accordingly,  and  af¬ 
fixed  the  signature  of  the  town  clerk.  On  receiving  it,  he  ex¬ 
claimed,  u  Ah!  Betsey  Fales,  that  will  do!  ”  Miss  Davis  took 
the  certificate  back,  and  was  about  to  burn  it,  but  Fairbanks 
prevented  her,  and  put  it  in  his  pocket.  He  promised  her, 
however,  that  no  one  should  see  it. 

This  witness  farther  stated,  that  Fairbanks  asked  for  the 
certificate  in  a  jocular  manner,  and  she  did  not  believe,  at  the 
time,  that  he  meant  anything  serious.  She  had  frequently 
seen  Fairbanks  and  the  deceased  together,  and  believed  them 
reciprocally  attached. 

Doctor  Benjamin  Turner  had  seen  the  body  at  the  grave, 
and  confirmed  the  testimony  touching  the  marks  of  teeth  on 
the  hand. 

Sarah  Guild  swore  that  Elizabeth  Fales  came  to  the  house 
where  she  lived,  on  the  day  of  her  death,  between  twelve  and 
one,  and  staid  more  than  an  hour.  She  said  she  came  to  bor¬ 
row  a  book,  and  refused  to  stay  longer.  She  said  she  had 
been  working  hard,  but  was  cheerful,  and  as  she  was  going 
away,  stopped  some  minutes  at  the  door  to  play  with  a  child. 
Eliza  Guild  testified  to  the  same  effect,  and  added,  that,  in  the 
spring,  she  heard  Jason  Fairbanks  say  he  should  not  live  till 
the  election.  A  person  present  told  him  that  he  must  take  Eliz¬ 
abeth  Fales  to  a  ball,  to  which  he  replied,  “  I  am  not  sure  of 
it.  I  am  sure  I  shall  not  live  till  election.” 

Hannah  Farrington  lived  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  place 
where  the  body  was  found.  On  the  day,  and  at  the  time  of 
the  murder,  she  heard  a  voice,  which  she  knew  to  be  that  of 
Elizabeth  F ales,  cry  “  0  dear !  0  dear !  ”  It  appeared  to  come 

3* 


56 


JASON  FAIRBANKS. 


H 


from  the  woods,  between  the  house  and  the  place  where  the 
body  was  found.  On  hearing  it,  the  witness  said  to  her  sister 
that  it  was  Elizabeth  Fales,  laughing,  and  that  she  would  soon 
be  there.  She  heard  the  voice  two  or  three  times,  within  fif¬ 
teen  minutes,  and  it  appeared  like  that  of  a  person  in  distress. 
The  witness  had  always  thought  Miss  Fales  and  Fairbanks 
very  fond  of  each  other,  and  had  often  seen  them  together. 
She  said  that  Fairbanks  had  been  sick,  and  was  always  weak¬ 
ly.  During  the  last  spring  he  had  been  confined  to  the  house, 
and  spat  blood.  Beside,  his  right  arm  was  entirely  stiff  at  the 
elbow,  and  he  could  not  use  it.  He  had  spent  most  of  his  time 
at  home,  but  had  lately  been  at  an  academy  in  Wrentham. 

Hannah  Farrington  had  always  seen  the  prisoner  and  the 
deceased  walk  home  together,  and  they  always  seemed  to  de¬ 
sire  the  company  of  each  another.  She  had  not  doubted  that 
they  were  courting. 

Prudence  Farrington  agreed  with  the  last  witness,  in  all 
points.  F airbanks  and  Miss  F ales  had  often  met  at  her  house, 
it  appeared  to  her,  by  appointment. 

William  Mason  met  the  prisoner  on  the  eighteenth  of  May, 
between  twelve  and  one,  who  asked  him  where  he  had  been. 
There  was  some  small  talk  between  them,  and  Fairbanks  de¬ 
meaned  himself  as  usual. 

Isaac  Whiting  had  conversed  with  the  prisoner  the  Decem¬ 
ber  before.  Fairbanks  told  the  witness  that  he  found  some  dif¬ 
ficulty  in  addressing  Miss  Fales,  as  her  friends  were  oppos¬ 
ed  to  it.  At  another  time  he  told  Whiting,  that  he  must  sac¬ 
rifice  her  character  by  violating  her  chastity;  but  added,  that 
he  “  sometimes  thought  it  too  bad.”  He  frequently  told  this 
witness  he  thought  he  should  never  marry  her,  because  the  fam¬ 
ilies  were  at  variance.  Once  Whiting  had  heard  him  say,  that 
some  one  had  informed  him  that  Miss  Fales  had  been  address¬ 
ed  by  another  person,  and  if  that  was  the  case,  he  would  have 
nothing  more  to  do  with  her.  He  had  said  to  Whiting  that  he 
did  not  think  he  should  ever  enter  her  father’s  house  again, 
but  if  he  should,  the  difficulty  could  be  settled  in  a  few  min¬ 
utes.  Whiting  then  understood  that  the  difficulty  was  remov- 
.  ed,  and  saw  them  together  often.  The  Saturday  before  her 
death,  Fairbanks  spoke  as  if  he  expected  to  see  her  soon,  and 
his  conversation  was  light  and  jocular.  This  witness  also 
confirmed  the  account  of  the  prisoner’s  debility. 

Jibner  Whiting  testified,  that  being  once  in  Mr.  Bates’  shop 
with  Fairbanks,  he  saw  Mrs.  Fales  going  by.  This  was  two 
or  three  years  before.  Fairbanks  cursed  and  swore,  and  said 


JASON  FAIRBANKS. 


57  ' 

he  would  have  satisfaction  of  Mrs.  Fales.  He  would  not  ex¬ 
plain  his  meaning  ;  but  Bates  said,  that  one  evening  he  went 
home  with  Miss  Fales,  and  the  door  was  shut  against  him. 
Fairbanks  replied,  u  well,  you  know  something  about  it;”  and 
then  repeated  that  he  would  have  satisfaction.  The  witness 
again  saw  the  prisoner,  in  the  same  place.  They  went  out  to¬ 
gether,  and  saw  Miss  Fales  coming  toward  them,  on  which 
Whiting  asked  Fairbanks  if  he  had  obtained  satisfaction  yet. 
He  answered  that  he  had  not,  and  that  he  had  no  such  inten¬ 
tion.  He  added,  u  Betsey  is  a  nice  girl,  but  d — n  it,  for  all 
that,  I  don’t  know  what  to  do.  I  don’t  know  but  I  must  be 
the  death  of  her.” 

The  next  time  the  witness  saw  Fairbanks,  he  (Whiting) 
was  standing  in  the  door  of  Bates’s  shop.  Fairbanks  was 
coming  toward  the  shop  with  another  young  man,  a  stranger 
to  Whiting.  A  young  woman,  whom  Whiting  believed  to  be 
Miss  Fales,  was  approaching  at  the  same  time.  He  heard 
some  person,  apparently  Fairbanks,  exclaim,  u  d — n  you,  I 
must  have  you  in  the  bushes.”  He  went  toward  them  and 
listened,  but  could  hear  no  more. 

At  another  time,  Whiting  was  in  Mr.  Daniel’s  shop,  and  saw 
Fairbanks  and  another  young  man  ;  and  at  the  same  time  Miss 
Fales,  approaching.  One  of  them  exclaimed,  u  d — n  you,  I 
will  be  the  death  of  you.”  In  this  case,  also,  the  prisoner’s 
companion  was  unknown  to  the  witness. 

Whiting  stated  all  this  to  have  occurred  a  long  time  before, 
perhaps  two  or  three  years.  He  said  he  had  told  his  wife 
what  he  heard,  but  she  answered  u  that  he  had  been  to  the  shop, 
and  did  not  know  what  he  did  hear.”  He  had  also,  he  said, 
informed  Joshua  Fales  of  the  threats  of  Fairbanks. 

Joshua  Fales  positively  denied  ever  having  had  such  a  com¬ 
munication  from  Abner  Whiting.  He  said  that  misfortune 
and  law,  had  some  years  before  unsettled  his  intellects,  for  a 
time,  but  he  knew  nothing  against  his  character,  with,  respect 
to  truth,  or  anything  else. 

The  wife  of  Abner  Whiting  was  not  permitted  to  testify, 
with  regard  to  the  communications  sworn  to  have  been  made 
to  her. 

William  Draper  had  known  Abner  Whiting  to  be  u  troubled 
in  mind,”  several  years  before.  He  had  appeared  before 
a  court  as  a  witness,  and  was  fearful  of  having  said  something 
amiss.  His  father  took  him  home  in  consequence.  Draper 
had  also  been  told  by  Whiting  of  one  of  the  conversations 
alleged  tc  have  taken  place  at  Bates’s  shop.  In  a  conversa- 


58 


JASON  FAIRBANKS. 


lion  which  took  place  relative  to  the  death  of  Miss  Fales, 
Draper  thought  he  behaved  much  in  the  same  manner  as  when 
troubled  in  mind.  He  appeared  to  be  intoxicated,  and  after¬ 
ward  did  not  remember  what  he  had  said.  He  also  told 
Draper,  u  he  did  not  know  but  he  had  said  something  wrong 
before  the  Grand  Jury,”  and  feared  that  he  might  be  blamed 
for  it. 

Nehemicih  Fales ,  the  afflicted  parent  of  the  deceased,  testi¬ 
fied  that,  two  or  three  years  before  her  death,  she  had  received 
the  attentions  of  a  Mr.  Sprague,  who  went  to  New  York  and 
was  married.  He  thought  that  this  had  affected  her  much, 
but  was  not  aware  that  she  had  been  attached  to  Fairbanks. 
He  had  never  forbidden  the  prisoner  his  house.  The  rest  of 
his  evidence  only  went  to  confirm  points  proved  before. 

Reuben  Fai'i'ington  stated,  that  the  Sunday  evening  before 
the  death  of  Miss  Fales,  he  walked  home  from  church  with 
her,  Fairbanks,  and  others.  Fairbanks  stopped  at  the  witness’ 
house,  while  Miss  Fales  proceeded  homeward.  The  prisoner 
asked  him  home  to  supper,  and  on  the  way  told  him,  that  he 
was  about  to  meet  Miss  Fales,  in  order  to  settle  the  matter. 
He  said  he  would  either  violate  her  chastity,  or  carry  her  to 
Wrentham  and  marry  her,  for  he  had  waited  long  enough,  to 
the  injury  of  his  health.  Farrington  laughed  at  him.  The 
next  morning  Fairbanks  came  to  his  house,  but  said  nothing 
more  of  the  matter.  He  came  again  at  ten  o’clock,  and 
Farrington  asked  him  to  assist  in  planting  beans,  but  he  ex¬ 
cused  himself,  saying  he  was  too  weak.  He  said  he  was 
coming  to  Farrington’s  house  at  Election,  as  Miss  Fales  had 
invited  him.  Much  more  idle  conversation  passed,  by  no 
means  important  to  relate.  Farrington  thought  he  jested, 
having  often  heard  him  discourse  in  the  same  jocular  manner. 

Farrington  was  of  opinion  that  the  prisoner  and  the  deceas¬ 
ed  were  very  intimate,  and  strongly  attached  He  thought 
that  Fairbanks  was  liked  by  the  family  of  Miss  Fales.  She 
had  often  met  Fairbanks  at  Farrington’s  house,  as  often  as 
two  or  three  times  a  week,  and  they  sometimes  tarried  till 
eleven  or  twelve  o’clock.  *  He  thought  they  would  u  have  gone 
through  fire  and  water  for  the  sake  of  being  together.”  Their 
meetings  did  not  appear  accidental,  but  the  result  of  previous 
assignation. 

Bulah  Guild  swore,  that  about  two  months  before  the  mur¬ 
der,  in  a  conversation  with  Fairbanks,  the  latter  observed, 
that  “  Mrs.  Fales  and  Mrs.  Waite  had  been  talking  about  him, 
but  he  had  thought  of  a  better  way — there  were  other  ways 


JASON  FAIRBANKS. 


59 


to  come  up  with  people,  besides  talking  about  them.”  He  said 
the  physician  had  told  him  he  might  live  many  years  ;  but  he 
did  not  himself  think  he  should  live  three  months.  He 
said ,  u  if  he  thought  he  should  live  seven)  he  should  not 
care.”  , 

Several  witnesses  testified  that  the  demeanor  of  the  deceas¬ 
ed  on  the  day  previous  to  her  death,  was  gay  and  cheerful. 

Doctor  Ames  being  again  called,  testified  that  he  saw  Fair¬ 
banks  several  times  after  the  murder,  before  he  was  committed 
to  prison.  The  wound  on  his  windpipe  had  not  penetrated 
the  cavity,  and  the  doctor  told  him  he  need  not  be  afraid, 
for  it  would  not  kill  him.  He  exclaimed,  “  O  my  heart!  O  my 
heart!”  Speaking  of  the  wounds  in  his  breast,  he  said  he 
had  ran  the  knife  into  the  haft,  but  this  Dr.  Ames  did  not 
believe.  Fairbanks  wished  that  he  might  not  live,  as  his 
life  was  a  burden  to  him.  The  witness  described  the  prison¬ 
er’s  right  arm  as  small,  and  stiff  at  the  elbow,  but  believed  he 
might  raise  anything  from  the  ground  with  it,  by  stooping. 

Doctor  Charles  Kitteridge  stated  that  the  wounds  of  the 
prisoner  were  very  dangerous.  One,  in  the  abdomen,  began 
to  mortify,  and  the  mortification  was  arrested  with  great 
difficulty.  It  brought  on  a  tetanus,  or  locked  jaw,  that  lasted 
seven  or  eight  days. 

The  witness  had  also  examined  the  wounds  of  the  deceased  ; 
and  as  there  was  some  contradiction  which  thumb  was  wound¬ 
ed,  satisfied  himself  that  it  was  the  left.  He  said  he  did  not 
see  the  wound  in  the  back. 

Lydia  Whiting  and  Catherine  Everett  both  swore,  positively 
ftiat  Dr.  Kitteridge  did  see  the  said  wound,  and  that  on  see¬ 
ing  it,  he  said  it  was  the  strongest  evidence  against  Fairbanks. 
The  doctor  was  again  called,  and  swore  as  positively  to  the 
contrary.  The  others  stated  that  the  examination  took  place 
after  the  jury  were  called  out  of  the  chamber.  Reuben  Far¬ 
rington ,  who  was  a  witness  on  this  occasion,  went  with  the 
jury,  and  did  not  see  the  doctor,  who  afterwards  told  him 
that  he  was  sorry  he  had  not  seen  the  wound.  Ebenezer  Fair¬ 
banks,  Jr.  the  brother  of  Jason,  deposed  that  he  was  in  the  room 
with  Dr.  Kitteridge  and  his  brother,  while  the  jury  were  exam¬ 
ining  the  wound,  and  the  doctor  did  not  leave  the  room. 

Eunice  Lewis  then  swore  that  Doctor  Kitteridge  had  ex¬ 
amined  the  wound,  and  that  she  was  not  mistaken. 

Edward  Fisk  swore  that  Doctor  Kitteridge  had  told  him  that 
he  had  not  examined  the  wound  in  question. 


60 


JASON  FAIRBANKS. 


SuJcey  Fairbanks ,  the  prisoner’s  niece,  testified  to  the  ex¬ 
istence  of  an  attachment  between  Jason  Fairbanks  and  the 
deceased,  and  that  Elizabeth  and  Polly  Fales  had  visited  her 
father’s  house  on  the  eighth  of  May.  She  said  that  the  lovers 
had  been  left  together,  and  that  at  her  departure,  Miss  Fales 
had  affectionately  kissed  Jason’s  hand.  Again,  when  she 
came  with  Polly  Fales,  the  witness  and  Polly  went  to  bed  and 
left  her  with  Jason.  About  daylight  Miss  Fales  came  to  bed, 
and  told  the  witness  that  she  had  something  important  to  com¬ 
municate,  but  dared  not,  lest  Polly  should  overhear  them. 

The  witness  further  testified,  that  the  prisoner  was  sickly 
and  weak.  On  one  occasion,  he  had  been  unable  to  force  a 
little  boy  to  school.  He  had  once  scuffled  with  the  witness, 
who  had  been  able  to  hold  him  very  easily;  and  he  was  so  fa¬ 
tigued  with  the  exertion,  that  he  did  not  get  over  it  for  several 
hours.  In  the  forenoon  of  the  day  on  which  Elizabeth  Fales 
was  murdered,  he  had  copied  music  for  his  brother,  and  was  in 
good  health  and  spirits.  When  he  left  the  house,  he  inform¬ 
ed  her  that  he  was  going  to  see  Elizabeth  Fales. 

Ebenezer  Fairbanks ,  Jr.  testified  to  the  continued  ill  health  of 
his  brother  and  that  he  was  unable  to  dress  himself.  He  lent 
the  prisoner  the  knife  he  had  on  the  morning  of  the  murder, 
to  be  used  as  a  penknife.  He  had  been  used  to  tease  Jason, 
for  which  reason  he  was  not  in  his  confidence.  He  knew 
that  Jason,  on  the  morning  of  the  murder,  had  about  him  the 
pocket  book  already  mentioned.  He  had  conversed  with  Mr. 
Fales  since  his  daughter’s  death,  who  told  him,  that  he  knew 
that  something  was  the  matter  with  the  deceased,  but  never 
suspected  that  it  had  any  reference  to  the  prisoner. 

Mary  Fairbanks ,  the  wife  of  Ebenezer  Jr.  testified  in  sub¬ 
stance  as  her  husband  had  done,  touching  the  health  of  the 
prisoner. 

John  Guild  had  once  seen  Jason  Fairbanks  scuffle  with  a 
young  man,  named  Ryan,  two  years  before,  and  thought  him 
full  a  match  for  Ryan.  He  knew  little  respecting  the  prison¬ 
er’s  health. 

Joseph  Ellis  had  seen  Jason  Fairbanks  scuffle  with  an  ac¬ 
tive  young  man,  named  Calvin  Fairbanks,  and  get  the  better 
of  him. 

Abner  Atherton  had  scuffled  with  the  prisoner,  who  got  the 
better  of  him  and  put  him  on  the  floor.  This  happened  the 
preceding  September. 

Afrs.  Abigail  Gay  testified  that  she  had  witnessed  the  scuf- 


4 


JASON  FAIRBANKS.  61 

.  \ 

fle  between  Atherton  and  the  prisoner,  and  that  they  were 
both  so  much  intoxicated  at  the  time,  that  she  thought  she  could 
have  managed  either  of  them. 

What  has  been  given,  contains  the  substance  of  the  evi¬ 
dence.  There  were  more  witnesses,  who  testified  to  things 
immaterial.  We  have  not  given  the  whole  particular  testimo¬ 
ny  of  each,  excepting  in  cases  where  there  was  contradiction, 
conceiving  it  to  be  unnecessary.  We  presume'  to  offer  no 
opinion  on  the  credibility  of  the  witnesses,  except  that  of 
Abner  Whiting,  who,  it  appears,  hesitated,  and  contradicted 
himself  on  the  stand,  probably  in  consequence  of  mental  de¬ 
rangement.  We  think  that  no  importance  should  attach  to 
his  testimony. 

After  a  deliberation  which  lasted  ten  hours,  the  jury  found 
the  prisoner  GUILTY;  and  he  received  sentence  of  death, 
and  was  remanded  to  the  county  jail  in  Dedham. 

The  evidence  against  him  was,  it  seems,  though  strong, 
entirely  of  a  circumstantial  character,  and  there  were  many 
who  did  not  participate  in  the  popular  indignation,  or  believe 
Jason  Fairbanks  guilty.  Of  these,  five  or  six  concerted  a 
plan  of  escape,  which  was  carried  into  execution  on  the  night 
of  the  seventeenth  of  August.  The  community  at  large  were 
highly  indignant  at  this  interference  with  the  course  of  law; 
and  most  of  the  inhabitants  of  Dedham  signed  a  paper,  agree¬ 
ing  to  give  an  account  of  themselves  and  the  inmates  of  their 
houses,  to  have  their  premises  searched,  and  to  omit  no  exer¬ 
tion  to  apprehend  the  fugitive  and  his  accomplices.  A  reward 
of  five  hundred  dollars  was  offered  by  the  Executive  for  his 
apprehension,  which  was  soon  increased  by  subscriptions, 
principally  in  Boston,  to  a  thousand. 

Fairbanks,  and  Henry  Dukeham,  the  accomplice  in  his  es¬ 
cape  and  partner  of  his  flight,  in  the  meanwhile,  took  the 
road  to  Canada.  They  were  pursued  by  three  inhabitants  of 
villages  near  Boston.  At  Milford  they  first  obtained  infor¬ 
mation  respecting  the  fugitives,  and  then  pursued  their  route 
to  Connecticut  River.  They  came  up  with  Fairbanks  and 
Dukeham,  on  the  twenty-third  of  August,  at  Skeenborough 
on  Lake  Champlain,  and  made  them  prisoners.  Previous  to 
this,  Dukeham  had  hired  a  boat  to  carry  Fairbanks  to  St. 
John’s  in  Canada.  At  the  time  his  pursuers  overtook  him, 
Fairbanks  was  ready  to  embark,  and  was  only  waiting  for  his 
breakfast. 

Dukeham  and  Fairbanks  had  travelled  leisurely,  though 


62 


SAMUEL  GREEN. 


they  were  well  mounted,  not  expecting  to  be  pursued.  When 
taken,  Fairbanks  expressed  his  surprise,  and  said  that  if  he 
had  expected  to  be  followed  his  captors  should  have  ridden 
some  hundreds  of  miles  farther.  He  had  manifested  much 
indifference  during  his  trial*  nor  was  his  courage  shaken  by 
his  detection. 

On  the  twenty-ninth  of  August,  Fairbanks  and  Dukeham 
were  committed  to  Boston  jail.  On  the  same  day,  the  Gov¬ 
ernor,  with  the  advice  of  the  council,  signed  a  warrant  for  the 
execution  of  Fairbanks  on  the  tenth  of  September,  and  he 
was  executed  accordingly.  He  died  with  the  greatest  firm¬ 
ness,  denying  his  guilt  to  the  last. 

There  is,  to  this  day,  doubt  in  the  minds  of  many,  respect¬ 
ing  the  guilt  of  Fairbanks.  For  the  murder  of  Elizabeth 
Fales  there  appears  to  have  been  no  adequate  motive,  yet  it 
seems  almost  impossible  that  she  could  have  given  herself  the 
wounds  of  which  she  died. 


SAMUEL  GREEN. 

The  parents  of  this  malefactor  were  poor,  honest  people, 
residents  of  the  county  of  Strafford,  New  Hampshire,  where 
the  subject  of  this  memoir  was  born.  They  endeavoured  to 
give  him  some  education,  but  their  efforts  were  in  vain:  from 
his  earliest  childhood  he  showed  that  innate  depravity,  which 
afterward  brought  him  to  an  untimely  end.  Mischief  was  his 
whole  study:  he  was  commonly  a  truant,  and  when  at  school 
he  daily  contrived  to  draw  punishment  upon  himself.  He 
continued  this  course  till  he  was  eight  years  old,  when  he  was 

given  in  charge  to  a  Mr.  L - .  He  had  not  been  long  in 

this  person’s  house  before  he  was  detected  in  a  theft,  for 
which  he  received  a  sound  flagellation. 

Other  offences  brought  other  punishments,  which,  however, 
had  no  good  effect,  but  the  direct  contrary.  Perhaps,  had  mild 
measures  been  adopted,  reform  might  have  been  the  result; 
but  the  scourge  confirmed  him  in  obstinacy,  and  awakened  a 
spirit  of  revenge  in  his  bosom.  On  one  occasion,  having  been 
whipped,  he  retaliated  by  destroying  a  bed  of  onions,  and  was 
again  chastised  in  order  to  extort  confession;  but  as  he  had 


SAMUEL  GREEN. 


63 


done  this  mischief  unseen,  nothing  could  make  him  confess 
it.  He  resolved  to  strike  blow  for  blow;  and  on  a  favorable 
opportunity,  drowned  a  dog  in  the  family  well.  Putrefaction 
rendered  the  water  offensive,  and  Mr.  L - was  at  consider¬ 

able  expense  to  have  the  well  cleansed;  and,  in  the  meanwhile, 
Green  being  suspected,  was  obliged  to  bring  water  from  a 
great  distance,  thus  realizing  that  sin  commonly  brings  its 
own  punishment. 

,  He  lived  with  Mr.  L - two  years,  during  which  time,  he 

continued  to  conduct  in  the  same  flagitious  manner.  At  last, 
being  scourged  for  stabbing  a  swine,  he  eloped,  and  returned 
to  his  parents,  who  then  sent  him  to  another  master,  a  Mr. 

D - of  Newhampton,  where  he  behaved  properly,  upwards 

of  a  year.  Here  he  was  sent  to  school,  but  usually  played 
the  truant,  and  was  as  constantly  whipped.  One  day,  he  went 
to  a  smith’s  shop  to  buy  a  jew’s-harp,  but  not  finding  the  smith 
at  home,  he  purloined  one.  Returning  home,  Mr.  D - whip¬ 

ped  him  for  running  away,  and  on  the  morrow  discovered  the 
theft;  for  which  he  whipped  our  hero  again,  and  sent  him  to 
restore  his  booty,  with  a  promise  that  unless  he  returned  in  due 
time,  he  should  be  flogged  once  more.  Green  again  trans¬ 
gressed,  and  his  master  kept  his  word.  Enraged  at  this,  he 
escaped  to  his  parents,  who  made  him  taste  of  the  rod  afresh, 
and  sent  him  back  to  his  master,  who  applied  the  whip  to  his 
back  once  more.  For  this,  the  boy  determined  to  take  his 
life! 

Mr.  D - had  a  workshop,  the  door  of  which  opened  out¬ 

ward.  Against  this  the  young  desperado  laid  a  heavy  stick 
of  timber  on  the  inside,  and  on  the  top  a  broad  axe,  in  hopes 
that  when  Mr.  D —  opened  the  door,  they  would  fall  upon, 
and  destroy  him.  For  fear  of  failure,  he  prepared  the  barn 
doUr  in  the  same  fashion,  poising  a  pitchfork  on  the  top,  with 
the  points  downward.  He  had  a  partial  success  in  both  in¬ 
stances;  for  when  Mr.  D - -‘opened  the  shop  door,  the  fall 

of  the  timber  bruised  his  shoulder,  and  at  the  barn  the  pitch- 
fork  wounded  his  foot.  Green’s  ingenuity  was  rewarded  with 
another  castigation.  Yet  he  was  not  to  be  subdued,  and 
stuck  at  no  villany  that  might  favor  his  revenge.  He  destroy¬ 
ed  a  hogshead  of  cider;  he  stole  and  sold  his  master’s  corn, 
as  well  as  other  things;  and  instead  of  planting  the  seeds  en¬ 
trusted  to.  him,  he  destroyed  them.  Again  he  eloped,  and 
again  was  he  brought  back.  Once,  in  revenge  for  a  chas¬ 
tisement  unusually  severe,  he  fired  the  house;  but  the  fire  was 
discovered  in  time,  and  the  dwelling  was  saved.  A  larger 


64 


SAMUEL  GREEN. 


volume  than  this  would  be  insufficient,  to  record  all  his  misdo¬ 
ings.  In  all  this  wickedness,  he  was  aided  and  abetted  by  a 

lad  named  A - ,  who  was  as  bad,  or  worse,  than  himself. 

Nevertheless,  Green  was  a  boy  of  uncommon  parts,  and  Mr. 
D - always  cherished  the  vain  hope  that  he  might  reform 

He  then  went  to  live  with  a  new  master,  with  whom  he  was 
able  to  stay  but  three  months,  and  so  returned  home-,  where  he 
was  indulged  in  everything,  for  none  dared  to  cross  him. 
His  father  was  too  old  to  chastise  him,  and  the  tears  of  his 
mother  were  of  no  effect.  He  now  became  acquainted  with  a 
notorious  counterfeiter,  who  gave  him  instructions  in  vice, 
showing  him  how  to  break  open  shops,  and  window  shutters. 
Green  was  an  apt  pupil,  as  will  hereafter  be  seen.  His  pre¬ 
ceptor  also  gave  him  counterfeit  money  to  pass,  promising  him 
half  the  profits.  In  less  than  a  month  he  had  disposed  of 
forty-seven  dollars,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Newhampton. 
The  counterfeiter  then  promised,  that  if  he  would  break  into 
a  shop,  and  bring  him  the  goods,  he  would  pay  him  half  their 
value. 

In  concert  with  his  comrade  A - ,  Green  broke  into  the 

said  shop,  whence  they  took  merchandise  to  the  value  of  an 
hundred  dollars,  which  they  carried  to  their  instigator,  who 
gave  them  ten  dollars  each,  for  their  pains.  So  little  truth  is 
there  in  the  saying,  that  there  is  honor  among  thieves.  Green 
was  never  suspected  of  this  burglary,  but  a  man  named  Hart 
was  arrested  on  suspicion.  This  man  was  acquitted  for  want 
of  evidence,  yet  lost  his  character;  and  thus  the  guilt  of  the 
actual  perpetrators  was  doubled. 

Our  hero  then  hired  himself  to  a  farmer;  but,  as  he  could 
not  forego  the  society  of  his  friend  A - ,  every  Sabbath,  in¬ 

stead  of  attending  divine  worship,,  they  met  at  a  pond  in  the 
neighbourhood,  where  they  usually  made  free  with  a  boat, 
which  they  never  returned  to  the  place  where  they  found  it. 

When  the  owner  of  the  boat  found  his  locks  and  chains 
broken,  he  resolved  to  watch,  and  the  next  Sunday  succeed¬ 
ed  in  laying  hands  on  A - ,  but  Green  managed  to  keep  out 

of  his  reach.  A - resisted  with  all  his  might,  but  as  the 

honest  man  had  the  better  of  him,  Green  took  up  a  large 
pebble,  and  coming  behind  the  owner  of  the  boat,  said  that  if 

he  did  not  instantly  release  A - ,  he  would  knock  out  his 

brains.  The  man  replied  that  he  would  whip  them  both,  and 
Green  instantly  knocked  him  down  with  a  stone;  and  still  dis¬ 
satisfied,  threw  another,  which  broke  his  arm  as  he  lay  on  the 
ground.  Upon  this  he  cried  murder,  and  the  young  ruffians 


SAMUEL  GREEN. 


65 


ran  away.  For  this  exploit,  they  were  indicted  on  an  action 
of  assault  and  battery,  but  their  friend  the  counterfeiter  paid 
the  damage. 

Green  remained  with  his  employer  four  months,  after  which 
he  returned  home,  and  wTent  to  school,  not  with  any  design  to 
learn,  but  that  he  might  do  all  the  mischief  he  could.  With 

the  assistance  of  A - ,  he  kept  the  school  in  confusion. 

Once,  these  reprobates  had  like  to  have  perished;  and  happy 
would  it  have  been  for  the  world,  still  more  happy  for  them¬ 
selves,  had  they  been  cut  ofF  before  they  had  opportunity  to 
stain  their  souls  with  crimes  of  a  darker  hue.  They  were 
skating  on  a  pond,  and  both  fell  through  the  ice  together 
With  great  difficulty,  Green  extricated  himself,  and  then  by 
the  aid  of  an  oar  rescued  A - . 

Shortly  after,  they  had  another  adventure.  There  was  a 
hill  near  the  school  house,  where  the  boys  used  to  coast.  One 
of  their  sledges  was  large  enough  to  carry  seven  or  eight 
children  at  once.  Once,  as  Green  and  his  companion  were 
ascending  the  hill,  they  met  this  sledge  descending  with  great 
velocity,  and  full  freighted.  In  sport,  they  threw  their  own 
sledge  under  its  runners,  but  it  proved  no  sport  for  the  oth¬ 
ers.  They  were  overturned  at  once;  one  boy  had  his  arm, 
and  another  his  thigh,  broken.  It  was  supposed  that  this 
mischief  was  intentional,  and  the  schoolmaster  blistered  their 
hands  for  it,  with  his  ferule.  For  this  they  waylaid  him, 
armed  with  clubs,  felled  him  to  the  earth,  and  bound  him. 

A - ,  would  have  deprived  him  of  his  nose,  but  Green 

would  not  consent;.  So  they  beat  him,  and  stripped  him  na¬ 
ked,  and  tore  his  clothes  to  pieces  before  his  face.  It  was  a 
very  cold  night,  but,  notwithstanding,  they  left  him  thus,  with 
his  hands  tied  behind  his  back. 

/  v 

After  this  feat  they  did  not  think  themselves  safe,  and 
therefore  went  to  Guilford,  where  Green  had  relations.  Here 
they  found  a  recruiting  party,  and  enlisted  as  musicians,  for’ 
they  were  not  yet  tall  enough  for  the  ranks.  Their  former 
employer,  the  counterfeiter,  told  them  that  they  would  have 
an  excellent  opportunity  to  pass  bad  money,  as  their  uniform 
would  protect  them  from  arrest,  even  if  detected.  He  gave 
Green  four  hundred  dollars  in  counterfeit  bills,  saying  that  he 
might  return  one  hundred  in  good  money,  and  keep  the  rest 
He  afterward  gave  them  nine  hundred  dollars  more. 

Shortly  after,  the  party  marched  to  Burlington,  and  our  two 
rogues  were  very  successful  in  passing  their  bad  money  on 
the  road.  Green  now  began  to  be  intemperate,  and  was  al- 


66 


SAMUEL  GREEN. 


most  constantly  in  the  guard  house.  He  also  became  a  fre- 
quentei  of  a  gaming  house,  where  he  lost  three  hundred 
dollars  at  play,  one  half  of  which  was  good  money.  It  should 
be  remarked  that  he  was  intoxicated  when  he  lost  it,  so  that 
it  seems  sobriety  is  absolutely  necessary,  even  to  a  rogje. 

Shortly  after,  men  were  needed  on  board  the  Lake  Cham¬ 
plain  fleet,  and  Green  and  his  comrade  were  permi  ted  to  en¬ 
ter;  but  instead  of  being  employed  as  seamen,  as  they  L<.<J 
expected,  they  were  ordered  to  do  <  jty  as  marines.  Here 
they  behaved  much  as  usual,  but  after  the  less  of  the  Eagle 
and  Growler,  they  were  set  on  shore  at  Burlington  and  dis¬ 
charged. 

They  then  returned  home,  with  four  hundred  dollars  only, 
which  was  all  that  remained  of  their  original  stock.  It  was 
all  in  good  money.  On  their  way  home  they  did  no  harm  to 
any  one,  which  may  be  considered  truly  wonderful.  Green 
paid  the  counterfeiter,  according  to  his  agreement,  and  received 
a  thousand  dollars  more.  This  man  was  forty  years  old,  and 


kinds. 


If  Green  had  a  single  good  feeling,  it  was  love  for  his 
mother,  though  even  that  does  not  appear  to  have  been  very 
strong.  On  his  return  he  gave  her  a  cow. 

He  now  bought  handsome  clothes,  for  which  he  paid  coun¬ 
terfeit  money;  and  thinking  himself  in  good  business,  paid  his 
addresses  to  a  young  girl,  the  daughter  of  a  poor  widow.  The 
mother,  not  liking  his  character,  forbade  him  the  house;  but 
meeting  the  girl  at  church,  he  enticed  her  home  with  him,  and 
kept  her  concealed  three  days  and  nights.  Thus,  even  in  the 
temple  of  the  Almighty,  his  depravity  was  proved.  The  be¬ 
reaved  mother  made  search,  found  her  child,  and  confined 
her  at  home,  which  for  sometime  hindered  Green  from  meet¬ 
ing  her. 

The  tailor  of  whom  he  bought  his  clothes,  soon  discovered 
that  he  had  been  defrauded,  and  compelled  Green  to  give  him 
good  money.  He,  moreover,  reproved  him,  and  threatened 
to  have  recourse  to  law,  if  he  ever  should  detect  him  again. 
This  was  the  first  time  Green  had  been  questioned  on  this 
subject,  and  he  forthwith  repaired  to  his  employer  for  advice. 
The  counterfeiter  counselled  him  to  break  into  the  tailor’s 
shop,  which  he  did;  and  stole  goods  to  the  value  of  an  hundred 
dollars,  for  which  his  patron  gave  him  twenty-five.  Shortly 
after,  he  went  to  a  camp  meeting  with  A - ,  and  they  pass¬ 

ed  a  great  many  bad  bills,  though  they  were  usually  intox- 


SAMUEL  GREEN. 


67 


icated.  At  last,  Green  was  detected  in  passing  a  counterfeit 
five  dollar  bill  at  a  tavern,  and  was  secured,  while  the  landlord 
went  for  an  officer.  He  made  away  with  the  bad  money  by 
swallowing  it,  so  that  on  searching  him,  none  was  found. 
The  landlord  then  offered  to  release  him  if  he  would  treat  the 
company,  and  give  him  a  dollar  for  his  trouble,  to  which  he 
consented.  The  bad  bill  was  burned,  and  he  was  set  at 
liberty. 

Not  many  days  after  this,  Green  and  A - were  engaged 

to  make  music  a  day,  for  a  militia  company.  In  the  morjing 
they  did  well  enough,  but  in  the  afternoon  they  were  too 
much  intoxicated  to  perform  their  agreement,  and  were, 
therefore,  d.scharged.  As  they  had  been  paid  in  advance 
they  did  not  care  for  this,  but  went  to  a  tavern,  where  they 
played  cards  with  the  guests.  These  took  advantage  of  their 
situation,  and  won  from  them  their  last  copper,  so  that  they 
were  unable  to  pay  their  reckoning ;  but  the  landlord  took 
their  word  for  the  payment,  and  they  sent  him  the  money  the 
next  day.  In  a  short  time,  Green  attempted  again  to  pass  a 
bad  bill  at  a  tavern,  but  the  publican  refused  to  take  it,  and 
would  have  burned  it  for  fear  some  other  should  be  defrauded. 
He  was  alone  in  the  house,  and  as  he  went  toward  the  fire, 

Green  and  A - both  swore,  that  if  he  destroyed  the  bill,  they 

would  put  him  into  the  fire  after  it.  The  landlord  was  a 
resolute  man,  and  did  as  he  had  said;  whereupon  Green 
caught  a  chair  and  struck  him  down,  and  the  two  rogues  laid 
hands  on  him,  intending  to  put  him  in  the  fire,  which  they 
would  have  done,  but  for  the  interference  of  his  wife  and 
servant  maid,  who  subdued  the  one,  while  the  landlord  master¬ 
ed  the  other.  They  were  soundly  beaten,  and  turned  out  of 
doors,  but  that  night  they  revenged  themselves  by  burning  the 
publican’s  fences. 

Their  next  adventure  was  at  a  party,  on  a  thanksgiving 
evening,  where,  as  usual,  they  drank  to  excess,  and  behaved 
so  badly  that  they  were  ordered  to  leave  the  house.  They 
refused  to  go,  and,  in  the  scuffle  that  ensued,  destroyed  the 
movables  and  furniture  of  the  apartment. 

A  large  bounty  being  offered  to  recruits,  our  rogues  enlist¬ 
ed  again;  byt  as  soon  as  they  had  received  the  advance  money, 
deserted,  and  went  to  Compton,  where,  for  a  while,  they  con¬ 
ducted  properly,  and  Green  gained  the  reputation  of  a  steady, 
sober  young  man.  A  company  of  militia  was  draughted,  and 
he  joined  it  in  the  capacity  of  a  musician.  At  Portsmouth, 
coming  in  contact  with  regulars,  he  was  recognised  and  taken 


68 


SAMUEI  GREEN. 


into  custody.  After  remaining  a  prisoner  three  months,  he 
was  tried  for  desertion,  by  a  court  martial,  and  sentenced  to 
hard  labor  for  two  years,  with  a  ball  and  chain  attached  to  his 
leg.  The  captain  of  the  militia  company,  however,  assumed 
to  be  his  guardian,  and  shortly  procured  his  discharge.  He 
then  returned  to  his  mother,  attended  school,  and  behaved 
with  due  decorum  all  winter.  The  March  following,  he  re¬ 
newed  his  accustomed  business  by  breaking  open  a  shop, 
from  which  he  took  goods  to  the  value  of  an  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars,  which  he  carried  to  his  original  tutor  in  iniquity. 
As  Green  now  intended  to  visit  Boston,  this  veteran  misdoer 
instructed  him  how  to  cheat  at  cards,  in  the  use  of  false  keys, 
and  Low  to  pick  locks.  He  also  showed  him  how  to  make 
false  keys,  and  gave  him  all  the  information  that  might  be 
useful  to  a  professed  thief.  Green  then  repaired  to  Salem, 
and  hired  himself  to  work  in  the  Danvers  iron  factory,  but 
gave  up  this  employment  in  a  month. 

He  then  went  to  Boston,  where  his,  clothes  were  stolen  from 
him.  After  this  he  procured  a  place  as  a  servant,  in  a  house 
in  Somerset  Street,  where  he  used  to  steal  his  master’s  wines 
from  the  cellar.  This  gentleman  kept  a  store  on  India  Wharf, 
and  his  clerk  called  every  night  at  the  house  to  leave  the  key. 
Discovering  this,  Green  took  the  key  every  night,  opened  the 
store,  and  purloined  such  articles  as  he  thought  would  not  be 
missed.  One  day,  having  a  good  opportunity,  he  stole  a  gold 
watch,  which  was  soon  missed,  and  he  was  accused  of  the 
theft,  which  he  denied  resolutely.  The  next  day,  constable 
Reed  called  with  a  warrant,  and  taking  Green  in  private, 
advised  him  to  confess,  as  the  only  means  to  avoid  a  residence 
in  the  state  prison  for  life.  Green  steadily  denied  the  theft; 
and  succeeded  in  convincing  Mr.  Reed  that  he  was  innocent, 
as  well  as  his  master,  who  directed  him  to  resume  his  usual 
avocations.  He  refused,  and  was  driven  from  the  house. 

After  these  exploits,  Green  took  passage  for  Bath,  where  on 

his  arrival  he  found  his  comrade  A - ,  and  they  spent  several 

days  together,  in  dissipation  and  drunkenness,  till  an  opportuni¬ 
ty  occurred  to  commit  a  new  malefaction.  Being  in  a  tippling 
shop,  drinking,  a  pedlar  came  in  with  a  box  of  jewelry,  which 
he  incautiously  displayed.  A— —  proposed  to  Green  to  way¬ 
lay,  rob,  and  murder  the  pecllar,  which  the  latter  at  first 

hesitated  to  do,  but  was  persuaded  by  A - ,  who  said  that 

“  a  dead  cock  never  crowed.” 

About  half  a  mile  from  the  shop  the  road  ran  through  a 
swamp  by  the  side  of  a  pond,  and  by  this  road  the  pedlar  was 


Green  murdering  the  Pedlar. 


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SAMUEL  GREEN. 


G9 


to  pass.  The  two  villains  saw  him  depart  late  in  the  afternoon, 
and  hurried  to  post  themselves  in  his  way,  each  armed  with  a 
heavy  club.  As  soon  as  he  appeared,  they  knocked  him  down 
and  dragged  him  into  the  bushes,  where  they  beat  him  to 
death.  This  crime,  Green  afterwards  declared,  weighed 
heavier  on  his  conscience  than  any  other  of  his  misdeeds,  in¬ 
asmuch  as  the  victim  was  a  steady,  sober,  hard  working  man, 
who  had  never  done  him  any  injury.  Having  secured  his 
pack  and  money,  amounting  to  about  nine  hundred  dollars, 
the  miscreants  tied  some  large  stones  to  the  corpse  and  sunk 
it  in  the  pond.  They  remained  in  the  woods  till  dark,  when 
they  hid  the  trunk,  and  Green  went  to  visit  the  girl  he  had 
formerly  seduced,  and  presented  her  with  clothes  and  jewelry, 
the  property  of  the  murdered  pedlar. 

They  remained  sometime  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Bath, 
drinking  and  gambling  while  their  money  lasted.  During  this 
time,  they  dug  a  cave  in  the  side  of  a  high  hill,  where  they 
deposited  whatever  they  could  lay  hands  on.  Hence,  they 
made  an  excursion,  and  broke  open  a  clothier’s  mill  in 
Holderness,  whence  they  took  a  quantity  of  cloth  ;  at  San- 
bornton  they  broke  into  a  shop,  and  took  jewelry  and  goods 
to  the  value  of  six  hundred  dollars  ;  and  at  Haverhill,  in  New 
Hampshire,  they  attempted  a  burglary  on  the  Coos  Bank,  but 
were  discovered,  and  obliged  to  flee.  They  then  returned  to 
their  cave  and  deposited  their  stolen  goods. 

The  next  place  that  was  cursed  with  the  presence  of  the 
comrades  was  Portsmouth,  where  they  sold  their  plunder,  and 
by  associating  with  abandoned  women,  and  other  wicked 
courses,  soon  so  far  dissipated  their  means  that  they  were 
obliged  to  sell  their  horses  to  pay  their  landlord’s  bill.  Here 

A -  performed  another  exploit.  As  he  was  walking  out 

with  Green,  he  went  into  the  bank  to  change  a  bill.  While 

the  teller  was  busied  in  making  change,  A - —  snatched  a 

bundle  of  notes,  amounting  to  seven  hundred  dollars,  and 

escaped  undiscovered.  A - would  have  gone  back  for  more, 

had  not  Green  dissuaded  him.  They  immediately  went  to  find 
two  gamblers,  with  whom  they  played  thirty  six  hours  at  a 
sitting,  and  lost  four  hundred  dollars.  Exasperated  with  their 
loss,  they  accused  the  black-legs  of  cheating  them,  which  pro¬ 
bably  was  true,  and  beat  them  severely. 

Having  information  that  a  Mr.  L — — ■  of  Sanbornton,  had  a 
bag  of  gold  in  his  shop,  Green  repaired  thither  and  fitted  a 
key  to  the  lock,  and  then  watched  the  shop  from  a  hiding 

4 


70 


SAMUEL  GREEN. 


place,  till  he  saw  Mr.  L - close  his  premises  and  lock  the 

door.  Green  then  entered  in  search  of  the  gold,  and  struck 

a  light.  As  fortune  would  have  it,  Mr.  L - returned,  to  get 

something  he  had  forgotten,  and  raised  the  hue  and  cry. 
Green  leaped  out  of  a  window,  upon  a  pile  of  staves  which  lay 
beneath,  and  found  himself  in  the  presence  of  six  or  seven  men, 
one  of  whom  seized  him.  Nothing  daunted,  he  took  up  one  of 
the  staves  and  broke  the  man’s  arm,  and  cleared  himself  of 
a  second  by  a  blow  of  his  fist,  after  which  he  gained  the  place 
where  he  had  left  his  horse,  and  escaped.  Not  satisfied  with 

what  he  had  done,  in  a  few  days  he  returned  to  Mr.  L - ’s 

shop,  effected  an  entrance,  and  carried  off  goods  to  the  value  of 
two  hundred  dollars,  which  he  was  so  hardy  as  to  offer  for  sale, 
in  a  shop  between  Dover  and  Portsmouth.  A  neighbour  of 

Mr.  L - who  was  present,  recognised  the  articles,  and  with 

the  assistance  of  an  officer,  took  our  hero  into  custody,  and  he 
was  committed  to  jail  in  Dover  for  trial.  He  was  confined  in 
the  same  apartment  with  another  felon. 

Hearing  of  Green’s  mischance,  A - visited  him,  bringing 

an  augur  and  a  circular  saw,  with  which  the  prisoners  began 
to  work,  one  boring  and  the  other  sawing.  However,  before 
they  had  done  much  toward  escaping  they  were  discovered, 
and  the  jailer,  who  was  a  blacksmith,  secured  them  more 
strongly  than  before,  and  put  them  in  irons.  Green’s  fellow 
prisoner  could  slip  his  wrists  out  of  the  handcuffs,  and  with  a 
pen  knife  managed  to  liberate  himself  and  Green  from  all 
their  irons,  which  they  threw  into  the  privy.  Being  provided 
with  clubs,  when  the  jailor  came  to  fetter  them  again,  they 
threatened  to  kill  the  first  who  should  enter,  and  the  officer 

desisted.  The  next  night  A - came  again,  and  gave  them 

a  crowbar,  with  which  they  tore  up  half  the  planks  of  the 
floor.  Under  the  planks  they  found  a  second  floor,  of  stone, 
of  which  they  took  up  a  cart  load,  when  they  were  again  dis¬ 
covered,  but  not  till  they  had  secreted  their  crowbar. 

For  this  attempt  their  allowance  of  food  was  reduced,  and 
they  were  removed  to  an  upper  room,,  with  grated  windows. 
They  succeeded  in  weakening  the  gratings  so  that  they 
might  be  removed  with  little  effort,  and  were  waiting  for  night 
to  escape,  when  they  were  again  discovered,  and  conveyed  to 
the  apartment  they  had  first  occupied.  Moreover,  their 

allowance  was  still  farther  reduced.  The  next  night,  A - 

was  discovered  at  the  window,  in  the  act  of  furnishing  them 
with  tools  and  was  obliged  to  fight  his  way  through  those  who 


SAMUEL  GREEN. 


71 


would  have  apprehended  him.  Notwithstanding  all  this,  they 
once  more  disencumbered  themselves  of  their  irons,  and  com¬ 
mitted  them  to  the  privy. 

The  disappearance  of  the  fetters  astonished  and  irritated 
the  jailor,  and  he  forged  a  suit  of  irons  with  his  own  hands, 
which  defied  all  their  efforts.  Finding  the  impossibility  of 
escaping  by  force,  they  exhibited  such  a  show  of  sorrow  and 
repentance  to  the  high  sheriff,  when  he  visited  the  prison, 
that  he  ordered  their  irons  to  be  taken  off,  and  a  lighter  suit 
were  put  on. 

A  new  inmate  was  put  into  the  apartment,  and  the  three, 
having  got  rid  of  their  irons,  cut  through  an  oak  log  in  the 
privy,  which  was  eighteen  inches  square.  They  then  threw 
their  beds  into  the  vault  so  that  they  could  stand  on  them  to 
work,  and  dug  a  hole  through  the  wall  into  the  jailer’s  cellar, 
and  escaped  through  the  door  at  midnight. 

They  went  sixteen  miles  that  night,  and  hid  themselves  in 
the  woods  near  Gilmantown,  all  the  next  day.  At  night  they 
broke  into  a  shop,  and  stole  four  hundred  dollars  worth  of 
goods.  Thus,  they  had  no  sooner  escaped  punishment  than 
they  incurred  the  risk  of  it  again. 

They  were  now  advertised,  and  a  reward  of  an  hundred 
dollars  was  offered  for  the  apprehension  of  each,  so  that 
travelling  was  very  unsafe  for  them.  One  was  taken,  and  the 
other  two  parted  company.  Green  took  the  route  to  Canada. 
We  now  come  to  an  adventure,  which  may  serve  to  show  that 
this  man  had  courage  which  might  have  gained  him  laurels, 
had  it  been  exerted  in  a  good  cause. 

He  had  to  travel  over  a  marsh,  on  a  narrow  bridge  of  logs, 
which  he  found  guarded,  as  he  had  expected.  The  watch,  not 
knowing  that  the  burglars  had  separated,  had  stationed  two  men 
at  the  hither  end  of  the  bridge,  and  four  in  the  bushes,  nigh  at 
hand:  Green  passed  these  latter  unmolested,  and  advanced  to 
the  bridge  and  saw  the  two  sentinels.  At  the  same  time,  look¬ 
ing  behind  him  he  saw  the  rest,  and  immediately  took  to  flight, 
the  whole  six  following  hard  after.  Though  laden  with  a 
heavy  bundle  of  stolen  goods,  and  an  oaken  club,  he  distanced 
them  all  but  one,  who  at  last  seized  him  by  the  skirt  of  his 
coat,  while  the  rest  were  yet  thirty  yards*  distant.  Green 
struck  him  a  blow  with  his  cudgel,  which  brought  him  to  the 
ground,  and  recommenced  his  flight.  After  running  several 
miles  before  his  pursuers,  they  lost  sight  of  him.  It  is  rathei 
singular^  that  in  this  hard  chase,  during  which  he  was  several 
times  on  the  point  of  being  taken,  he  never  relinquished  his 


72 


SAMUEL  GREEN. 


bundle,  though  by  dropping  it  he  might  have  effected  his 
escape  with  great  ease.  He  explained  the  circumstance  him¬ 
self,  saying,  that  he  kept  his  booty  “  out  of  spite.” 

The  next  cay  he  came  to  some  men  making  staves,  who  set 
a  large  dog  on  him,  and,  by  means  of  the  animal,  made  him  a 
prisoner.  That  night  they  put  him  into  a  bed  between  two  of 
them,  intending  to  carry  him  to  prison  the  next  day.  Thinking 
themselves  sure  of  him,  his  guardians  slept  in  good  earnest, 
and  he  again  escaped,  but  with  the  loss  of  his  bundle. 

We  cannot  dwell  at  large  on  any  more  of  his  misdemean¬ 
ors.  They  are  enough  to  occupy  a  folio  in  their  recital,  and 
we  shall  therefore  pass  them  over  as  briefly  as  possible. 

Arriving  at  Burlington,  Vermont,  Green  took  passage  in 
the  steamboat  for  St.  John’s.  While  waiting  for  the  boat,  he 
amused  himself  with  a  burglary,  in  which  he  was  detected, 
and  was  provided  with  lodgings  at  the  public  expense.  He 
soon  freed  himself,  and  reached  Stanstead  in  Canada,  without 
interruption.  Here  he  broke  into  a  shop  and  stole  five  hun¬ 
dred  dollars,  with  which  he  equipped  himself  and  went  to 
St  John’s,  and  thence  to  Montreal. 

His  first  misdemeanor  in  this  city  was  forcible  entrance  into 
a  jeweller’s  shop,  from  which  he  took  articles  worth  seven 
thousand  dollars.  He  crossed  the  river  in  order  to  make  his 
escape,  but  before  he  got  far,  was  surprised  by  five  French¬ 
men.  He  fired  a  pistol  at  one  and  broke  his  arm,  but  his  sec¬ 
ond  pistol  would  not  go  off,  and  to  punish  his  obstinacy,  the 
men  beat  him  severely,  after  which  they  tied  him  hand  and 
foot  and  carried  him  to  Montreal,  where  they  immediately 
received  five  hundred  dollars  for  his  apprehension.  He  was 
tried,  found  guilty,  and  sentenced  to  death. 

His  spirits,  which  were  much  depressed,  were  revived  by  a 

visit  from  his  comrade  A - ,  who  promised  not  to  forsake  him, 

and  to  provide  him  with  tools,  at  the  risk  of  his  own  life.  In 
the  case  of  these  two  men,  the  proverb,  of  “  honor  among 
thieves,”  seems  to  have  been  exemplified,  and  the  principle,  if 
it  may  be  called  a  principle,  seems  to  have  been  the  only  ob¬ 
ligation  they  acknowledged.  A - was  as  good  as  his  word; 

and  Green  broke  prison,  and  escaped  in  the  direction  of 
Albany,  which  he  reached,  without  doing  anything  worse 
than  stealing  a  few  horses  and  committing  otie  burglary. 

At  Albany  Green  was  joined  by  A - ,  and  they  went 

together  to  Middleton,  Vermont,  where  they  remained  some 
months,  in  a  comparative  state  of  innocence, —  their  worst  of- 


SAMUEL  GREEN. 


73 


fences  being  drunkenness  and  gambling.  At  last,  having  com¬ 
mitted  a  fraud  in  swapping  a  horse,  they  were  compelled  to 
decamp,  and  shaped  their  course  for  home,  whither  they  did 
not  hesitate  to  go,  though  they  had  perpetrated  so  many 
crimes  in  its  vicinity.  Here  they  renewed  their  acquaintance 
with  their  early  preceptor,  the  counterfeiter.  It  might  seem, 
that  the  great  peril  Green  had  lately  been  in  would  have  been 
a  warning,  sufficient  to  make  him  abstain  at  least  from  capital 
crimes,  but  such  was  not  the  case.  Scarcely  had  he  slipped  his 
neck  out  of  the  halter,  when  he  prepared  to  risk  the  gibbet 
again. 

The  counterfeiter  informed  the  two  villains  that  a  French 
traveller  had  put  up  at  a  neighbouring  tavern,  and  they  re¬ 
solved  to  rob  him,  near  the  bridge  where  Green  had  been 
waylaid  by  six*  men,  as  before  related.  There  is  a  pond  here, 
two  miles  long,  and  two  high  hills,  forming  altogether  a  very 
gloomy  landscape.  Here  they  waited,  on  the  top  of  a  hill, 
for  the  Frenchman,  each  armed  with  a  brace  of  pistols  and  a 

knifd.  When  he  reached  the  spot,  A - seized  his  horse 

by  the  bridle,  and  Green,  holding  a  pistol  to  his  breast,  com¬ 
pelled  him  to  dismount.  The  unfortunate  man  was  much 
frightened,  and  fell  on  his  knees,  earnestly  beseeching  them 
to  spare  his  life.  Ruffian  as  he  was,  Green  would  have  suf- 
ered  him  to  proceed  on  his  journey,  but  for  the  expostulations 
of  his  comrade,  who  told  him  it  was  no  time  to  hesitate,  and 
bade  him  despatch  the  business.  Green  shot  the  man  dead 

on  the  spot,  at  the  same  time  A - shot  the  horse.  The 

bodies  of  the  brute,  and  his  rider,  they  sunk  in  the  pond,  and 
returned  to  their  hiding  place  with  their  booty,  which  amounted 
to  seventeen  hundred  dollars  in  cash.  They  gave  the  coun-  * 
terfeiter  two  hundred  dollars  of  this  money,  for  his  information. 

They  next  went  to  Schenectady,  where  they  were  robbed,  in 
turn,  of  all  the  money  they  had  taken  from  the  murdered 
Frenchman.  Thus,  the  only  result  of  this  crime,  as  far  as  re¬ 
lates  to  its  perpetrators,  was  adding  another  shade  of  black¬ 
ness  to  their  own  souls. 

The  next  place  where  our  adventurers  displayed  their  abili¬ 
ties  was  the  city  of  New  York.  After  two  unsuccessful  at¬ 
tempts  at  burglary  they  entered  a  wholesale  store,  whence 
they  took  neither  goods  nor  money:  but  finding  some  old 
checks  and  blanks  in  one  of  the  account  books,  they  filled  up 
one  of  the  blanks  with  the  sum  of  three  thousand  nine  hun¬ 
dred  dollars,  copying  the  signature  from  one  of  the  checks 
that  had  been  used.  They  then  left  the  store  without  dis- 


74 


SAMUEL  GREEN. 


turbing  anything.  The  next  day,  Green  g(  t  the  check  cash¬ 
ed,  and  the  companions  returned  to  Albany,  where  they  lived 
three  months,  at  the  rate  of  a  thousand  dollars  per  month. 
They  then  went  home  again,  and  behaved  in  such  a  manner 
as  made  the  country  too  hot  to  hold  them.  We  will  now 
hasten  still  faster  to  the  conclusion. 

At  Barre,  A - committed  a  rape,  for  which  he  was  com¬ 

mitted  to  jail  at  Montpelier;  whence,  by  the  assistance  of 
Green,  he  escaped,  but  from  that  time  Green  never  heard  of 
him. 

Green  was  next  apprehended  at  Burlington,  for  a  theft  com¬ 
mitted  at  Barre.  For  this  offence  he  was  tried,  found  guilty, 
and  sentenced  to  solitary  confinement;  but  soon  escaped,  and 
repaired  to  Schenectady,  stealing  a  horse  by  the  way. 

His  next  crime,  was,  selling  a  base  metal  watch  for  fifty 
dollars,  representing  it  as  gold.  He  then  committed  a  bur¬ 
glary  at  Saco,  by  which  he  got  nothing,  and  narrowly  escaped 
detection.  At  Danvers,  being  at  the  time  very  drunk,  he* broke 
into  a  store,  and  took  away  thirty  dollars,  and  goods  of  all 
descriptions,  which  he  tied  up  in  two  shawls.  These  things  he 
hid  under  a  wharf.  For  this  crime,  he  was  taken,  tried,  found 
guilty,  and  sentenced  to  thirty  days  solitary  confinement,'  and 
four  years  hard  labor  in  the  State  Prison.  On  his  entrance, 
his  head  was  shaved,  hair,  beard,  and  whiskers,  as  is  the  cus¬ 
tom.  He  was  then  obliged  to  strip  and  wash,  and  to  put  on  a 
coat  of  many  colors,  in  place  of  the  one  he  had  thrown  off.  Af¬ 
ter  this,  he  was  conducted  to  a  dark  narrow  cell,  where  he  found 
a  small  bed  and  two  blankets.  The  next  morning  two  ne¬ 
groes  brought  him  bread  and  water,  which  was  to  serve  him  for 
breakfast  and  dinner,  and  at  night  they  brought  more.  Thus 
passed  thirty  days,  when  he  was  taken  to  the  prison  yard,  and 
employed  in  hanynering  stone. 

Here  he  saw  a  great  many  prisoners,  some  of  them  with 
clogs  chained  to  their  legs,  an  appurtenance  that  he  was  soon 
like  to  have  obtained  himself,  for  disobeying  the  orders  of 
one  of  the  keepers. 

He  obtained  it  at  last,  by  an  attempt  to  escape,  and  wore  it 
for  nine  months.  Moreover,  when  taken  before  the  warden, 
he  ascertained  that  that  officer  was  advised  of  every  plot  the 
prisoners  had  formed  to  escape;  a  knowledge  he  gained  from 
false  brethren,  who  betrayed  their  companions  in  the  hope  of 
obtaining  some  mitigation  of  punishment  for  themselves. 

After  having  passed  three  years  in  prison,  he  plotted  with 
some  other  prisoners  to  break  forth;  but  in  order  to  do  this, 


SAMUEL  GREEN. 


•  75 


it  v/as  necessary  to  get  rid  of  the  keeper  of  the  arch  in  which 
they  were  confined.  For  this  purpose  one  of  them  attacked 
him,  and  bruised  him  so  severely  that  he  was  obliged  to  go  to 
the  hospital,  and  they  had  leisure  to  operate.  The  plan  was, 
to  master  the  officers,  and  set  every  prisoner  at  liberty.  But, 
just  as  the  conspiracy  was  about  to  take  effect,  the  plot  was 
made  known  to  the  keepers,  by  a  negro  named  Billy  Williams, 
and  measures  were  taken  to  frustrate  it. 

The  prisoners  were  naturally  exasperated  against  this  con¬ 
vict,  and  when  he  went  to  his  supper,  threw  bread  and  dishes 
at  him.  They  put  poison  into  his  dish,  but  he  ate  from  an¬ 
other,  and  so,  for  a  time  escaped  his  fate.  The  next  morn¬ 
ing  a  prisoner,  (the  notorious  Trask,)  asked  Green  if  he 
would  go  into  the  shop  where  Williams  was  at  work,  and  beat 
him,  before  the  keeper  could  come  to  his  assistance,  to  which 
Green  assented.  They  did,  accordingly,  beat  the  negro  with 
a  bar  of  iron,  broke  his  limbs  and  ribs,  and  fractured  his 
skull.  This  was  the  closing  crime  of  Green’s  life.  In  a 
week  after,  Williams  died  of  his  wound;  and  Green  was  taken 
to  Boston  jail,  where,  before  trial,  he  made  an  ineffectual  ef¬ 
fort  to  escape. 

On  his  trial,  Green  denied  that  Trask  was  the  man  who  as¬ 
sisted  to  murder  the  negro;  and  affirmed  that  he  did  not  in¬ 
tend  to  kill,  but  merely  to  beat  his  victim.  We  leave  our 
readers  to  judge,  what  credit  should  be  attached  to  the  assev¬ 
erations  of  such  a  person.  He  was  found  guilty,  and  sen¬ 
tenced  to  die  on  a  gallows,  a  fate  he  had  a  thousand  times 
merited.  Trask,  who  was  arraigned  at  the  same  time,  was 
acquitted  on  the  score  of  insanity. 

Green  was  executed  on  the  twenty-fifth  of  April,  eighteen 
hundred  and  twenty-two,  at  the  age  of  twenty-five  or  twenty- 
six  years.  He  behaved  firmly,  yet  decently,  at  the  place  of 
execution,  expressing  penitence  for  his  crimes.  The  rec¬ 
ords  of  America, — we  may  say,  indeed,  of  the  world,  do  not 
furnish  the  name  of  an  individual  who  crowded  so  many 
crimes  into  so  short  a  life.  Nor  have  we  ever  seen  a  more 
utter  perversion  of  abilities,  which,  properly  directed,  might 
have  served  and  adorned  the  name  of  humanity. 

Green  was  about  five  feet,  eight  inches  high;  withal,  thick¬ 
set  and  muscular.  His  eyes  and  hair  were  dark,  and  his  fea¬ 
tures  were  savage  and  scowling. 

He  was,  in  appearance,  such  a  person  as  a  traveller  would 
not  like  to  meet  alone  in  a  lonely  place. 


CHARLES  MARCHANT,  alias  JOHN  DUNCAN 

.  WHITE  ; 

AND  SYLVESTER  COLSON,  alias  WINSLOW  CURTIS. 

Marchant  was  a  native  of  England,  and  a  mariner  by  pro¬ 
fession.  The  incidents  of  his  life  previous  to  the  commission 
of  the  crime  for  which  he  suffered  have  not  come  to  our  know¬ 
ledge. 

On  the  twentieth  of  August,  eighteen  hundred  and  twenty 
six,  he  shipped  on  board  the  Schooner  Fairy,  at  Boston.  The 
Fairy  was  bound  for  Gottenburg,  under  the  command  of 
Edward  Selfridge,  a  young  man  of  blameless  character,  and  a 
skilful  navigator.  The  mate,  Thomas  Paine  Jenkins,  was  a 
native  of  Barnstable,  Massachusetts.  He  was  described  as 
an  honest,  quick-tempered,  active  man.  Both  the  captain 
and  mate  were  the  sons  of  widows,  who  depended  chiefly  on 
their  exertions  for  support.  Beside  Marchant,  the  crew  con¬ 
sisted  of  Winslow  Curtis,  otherwise  Sylvester  Colson,  John 
Hughes,  and  John  Murray,  the  cook. 

On  the  day  the  Fairy  sailed,  Marchant  and  the  mate  had  a 
dispute  on  the  wharf.  The  mate  commanded  the  seaman  to 
“  bear  a  hand  ”  in  getting  in  the  wood,  and  was  asked,  in  re¬ 
turn,  if  he  thought  he  was  speaking  to  negroes.  Jenkins 
made  a  testy  reply,  and  the  quarrel  ended.  After  the  vessel 
had  sailed,  the  watches  were  set;  Marchant,  belonging  to  the 
mate’s  watch,  and  Hughes,  and  Curtis,  or  Colson,  to  the  first, 
or  captain’s  watch.  Marchant,  being  a  good  seaman,  was  kept 
at  the  helm  four  hours  at  a  time;  an  arrangement  with  which  he 
expressed  himself  much  dissatisfied.  Colson,  also,  found 
cause  of  complaint:  while  he  slept  on  his  watch,  the  captain 
threw  water  on  him  to  awaken  him. 

Excepting  the  dispute  already  mentioned,  and  the  circum¬ 
stance  of  being  obliged  to  do  double  duty  at  the  helm,  it  does 
not  appear  that  Marchant  received  any  provocation  from  Jen¬ 
kins.  Yet  it  seems  probable,  that  the  murder  of  either  the 
captain  or  mate,  or  both,  was  premeditated,  from  this  circum¬ 
stance:  there  were  two  axes  on  board,  and  a  hatchet,  which 
was  kept  in  the  cabin  till  the  twenty  fourth  of  the  month, 
when  it  was  missed,  and  none  of  the  hands  could,  or  would, 
account  for  it.  Colsen,  also,  was  seen  to  secrete  a  heaver, 
(a  .iind  of  staff  used  to  set  up  halliards,)  in  the  boat,  proba¬ 
bly  with  a  view  to  have  a  weapon  ready. 


CHARLES  MARCHANT. 


77 


On  the  night  of  the  twenty-seventh  of  August,  at  nine  P. 
M.,  the  captain  went  below,  leaving  Colson  and  Hughes  on 
deck.  At  twelve,  his  watch  having  expired,  Hughes  called 
the  mate  and  Marchant,  who  came  up,  and  Marchant  took  the 
helm.  He  then  went  below,  and  slept  till  he  heard  the  watch 
called.  He  then  went  to  call  Colson,  but  did  not  find  him  in 
his  birth.  Going  on  deck,  he  saw  Colson  at  the  helm,  and 
Marchant  sitting  on  the  weather  rail.  On  being  asked  where 
the  mate  was,  Marchant  replied,  that  he  and  Colson  had  killed 
the  two  officers  and  thrown  them  overboard.  The  following 
dialogue  ensued. 

Colson.  Yes,  we  have  killed  the  d - d  rascals,  and  hove 

them  overboard.  The  devil  has  got  them  in  hell,  by  this  time. 

Marchant.  You  may  thank  God,  we  did  not  kill  you  as  we 
did  them. 

Hughes,  I  may  thank  God,  but  I  don’t  know  but  that  you  will 
kill  me  as  you  did  them. 

Marchant.  No;  we  will  not  kill  you,  if  you  behave 
yourself. 

Hughes  (weeping.)  Who  killed  them  ? 

Marchant.  I  killed  one,  and  he  the  other. 

Hughes.  What  did  you  kill  those  men  for;  for  what  cause? 

Marchant.  No  cause  at  all,  I  am  sorry  that  I  did  it. 

Colson.  Sorry  !  What  !  for  killing  them  two  fellows?  I  had 

as  lief  kill  the  two  d - d  rascals  as  to  kill  a  dog.  If  they 

were  good  men,  it  wouldffie  worth  while  to  be  sorry. 

Hughes.  And  what  do  you  mean  to  do  with  the  schooner? 

Marchant.  We’ll  run  for  Newfoundland,  and  there  scuttle 
her,  and  go  ashore  in  the  boat. 

Hughes.  It  will  be  a  terrible  thing  for  the  owners,  to  lose 
the  schooner  and  cargo. 

Marchant.  D — n  the  owners,  the  insurers  will  have  to  pay 
for  all.  What  are  you  crying  about  all  this  time? 

Hughest  It  is  enough  to  make  any  man  cry. 

Marchant.  You  think  a  great  deal  of  killing  a  man.  Cry! 
Look  at  the  old  countries;  the  Italians,  and  Portuguese,  and 
Spaniards,  make  nothing  of  killing  a  man. 

Hughes.  If  they  do  so,  will  you  do  the  same?  Only  look 
at  it,  and  see  what  a  shocking  thing  it  is  to  kill  those  poor  men. 
I  dare  say  you  killed  the  captain  while  he  was  asleep. 

The  two  murderers  then  cut  away  the  best  bower  anchor, 
stove  the  water  casks,  and  destroyed  everything  on  deck. 
After  breakfasting,  they  searched  the  vessel’s  papers  and  let¬ 
ter-bag,  and  destroyed  some  of  them.  The  captain’s  astronom 
4* 


78 


CHARLES  MARCHANT. 


ical  instruments  and  private  property  they  divided  between 
them.  Colson  took  Murray  into  his  watch,  and  Marchant 
took  Hughes  into  his.  The  pirates  then  disputed  which 
should  assume  the  command.  The  dispute  ended  ;  by  one 
steeling  in  one  direction  while  he  had  the  watch,  and  the 
other  in  a  contrary  one. 

After  this,  Marchant  spoke  little  about  the  rKirder.  Once, 
speaking  with  Hughes,  he  said,  Miat  Colson  had  been  three 
days  persuading  him  to  assist  in  killing  the  capta  n  and  mate, 
and  to  throw  them  overboard.  He  told  Hughes,  too,  that  af¬ 
ter  the  officers  were  despatched,  Colson  had  proposed  to  him 
to  kill  the  two  seamen  also,  to  prevent  a  discovery  of  their 
crime;  but  that  he  had  refused;  saying,  that  wrong  enough  had 
been  done  already.  Both  of  the  pirates  threatened  Murray 
with  death,  in  case  he  should  betray  them.  Colson  spoke 
much  of  what  he  had  done,  making  it  matter  of  boast  and  ex¬ 
ultation. 

After  their  measures  were  thus  taken,  Hughes  went  down 
into  the  cabin  to  look  at  the  captain’s  birth.  He  saw  stains 
of  blood  on  the  pillow  and  ceiling,  as  well  as  in  several  other 
places.  There  were  some  specks  also  observed  on  Mar- 
chant’s  trousers. 

In  the  morning  of  the  twenty-ninth,  before  daylight,  they 
made  the  coast  of  Nova  Scotia,  and  stood  off  and  on.  Marchant 
and  Colson  then  began  to  bore  holes  in  the  vessel’s  bottom, 
stopping  them  with  plugs  as  fast  as'  made.  There  was  but 
one  auger  on  board,  which  they  used  by  turns,  neither  of  the 
other  men  helping  them.  When  Marchant  thought  the  ves¬ 
sel  was  near  enough  to  the  shore,  he  pulled  out  the  plugs, 
and  ordered  the  boat  to  be  hoisted  out,  having  first  lowered 
the  sails  and  yards.  Three  chests  were  put  into  the  boat, 
one  belonging  to  the  captain,  one  to  the  mate,  and  one  to 
Hughes.  The  pirates  filled  the  two  first  with  the  property  of 
their  victims.  When  they  had  gotten  all  they  wanted,  Col¬ 
son  took  an  axe  and  cut  holes  in  the  vessel’s  sides,  even  with 
the  water’s  edge. 

On  their  way  to  the  shore,  the  pirates  invented  a  tale  to  im¬ 
pose  on  those  they  might  meet.  They  agreed  to  say  that  they 
belonged  to  the  Brig  Fame,  of  Philadelphia,  and  that  the  said 
vessel  had  sprung  a  leak  at  sea.  The  rest  of  their  story  was 
to  be  this:  that  the  crew  had  taken  to  the  boats,  four  in  each, 
and  that  as  they  had  separated  from  the  other  in  a  fog,  they 
supposed  it  was  lost,  with  the  captain,  mate,  and  two  seamen 


CHARLES  MARCHANT.  79 

in  it  They  agreed  to  call  the  supposed  captain  Adams.  Be¬ 
fore  they  reached  the  shore  the  Fairy  went  down. 

About  sunset  they  landed,  near  Louisburg$  on  the  island  of 
Cape  Breton,  and  Marchant  took  Hughes  with  him  to  the 
house  of  a  Mr.  Slattery,  where  they  procured  some  milk,  and 
immediately  returned  to  the  boat.  Marchant  then  said  that 
they  mnf'  remain  in  the  harbor  all  night,  and  in  the  morning 
try  to  ge  a  passage  to  Halifax,  or  England.  Accordingly, 
they  pulled  off  from  the  shore,  and  lay  in  the  boat  all  night. 
In  the  morning  they  landed  again,  and  Colson  took  Murray 
with  him  to  Mr.  Slattery’s  house,  while  Marchant  led  Hughes 
to  another  dwelling;  for  the  pirates  were  afraid  to  lose  sight 
of  them. 

There  was  an  American  schooner  called  the  Sally,  lying  in 
the  harbor,  commanded  by  Captain  Hook.  Captain  Hook  be¬ 
ing  on  shore  this  morning,  saw  the  four  seamen  all  together 
and  talked  with  them.  They,  that  is,  the  two  murderers,  told 
him  the  story  previously  agreed  on;  and  Colson  asked  if  Mr. 
Hook  would  give  him  a  passage  to  Danvers,  where,  he  said, 
he  belonged.  Murray  preferred  the  same  petition;  and  Mr. 
Hook  agreed  to  give  them  both  a  passage.  Marchant  pro¬ 
cured  a  passage,  on  board  a  shallop,  for  Halifax,  agreeing  to 
give  the  master  the  Fairy’s  boat  for  taking  him  thither. 

Colson  took  his  chest,  and  went  with  Murray  on  board  the 
Sally  shortly  after;  but  not  finding  Mr.  Hook  on  board  as  he 
had  (expected,  he  unlocked  his  chest,  took  some  very  good 
clothes,  and  returned  to  the  shore,  taking  Murray  with  him, 
much  against  the  will  of  the  latter.  Mr.  Hook  went  on  board 
the  Sally,  about  an  hour  after,  and  hearing  what  Colson  had 
done,  resolved  to  pursue  him  and  his  companions,  as  he  sus¬ 
pected  that  they  were  guilty  of  some  crime. 

As  soon  as  Mr.  Hook  gained  the  shore,  Murray,  who,  by 
this  time,  had  separated  from  Colson,  came  up  to  him,  and  de¬ 
sired  him  to  apprehend  the  two  pirates,  who,  he  said,  were 
murderers.  Mr.  Hook  told  him  to  step  into  a  house  at  hand, 
lest  Colson,  seeing  them  together,  should  abscond.  Murray 
then  said,  that  he  had  better  apprehend  Marchant  first,  as  he 
had  gone  to  the  Old  City,  three  miles  distant,  and  might  es¬ 
cape.  Accordingly,  Mr.  Hook  manned  his  boat  to  go  thither; 
but,  in  passing  Mr.  Slattery’s,  he  saw  Colson  come  out  of  the 
door,  and  go  round  the  house.  He  immediately  put  ashore, 
and  pursued  the  pirate,  who  ran  toward  the  woods.  Finding 
Colson  too  swift  for  him,  Mr.  Hook  called  to  his  men  to  row 
to  the  Old  City,  and  said  that  he  would  go  thither  by  land. 


80 


CHARLES  MARCHANT. 


Before  he  started,  however,  Hughes  came  up  to  him,  and  was 
taken  into  custody. 

Mr.  Hook  encountered  three  men  on  his  way  to  the  Old 
City,  who  assisted  him  to  look  for  Marchant.  They  found 
him  concealed,  under  a  bundle  of  hay,  in  a  field.  Mr.  Hook 
laid  hands  on  him,  and  told  him  that  he  was  a  murderer. 
Marchant  was  much  agitated;  and,  while  Mr.  Hook  was  tying 
his  hands,  confessed  that  he  had  assisted  Colson  to  dispose  of 
the  bodies  of  the  mate,  and  captain  of  the  Fairy.  ,  He  said 
that  Colson  had  slain  the  mate,  on  the  hen-coop,  with  an  axe, 
while  he,  Marchant,  was  at  the  helm.  After  this,  he  con¬ 
tinued,  Colson  went  below  and  killed  the  captain,  and  he, 
Marchant,  heard  him  scream  several  times.  He  then  assist¬ 
ed  Colson  to  drag  the  body  on  deck,  and  to  throw  it  over¬ 
board.  In  giving  this  account,  he  declared  that  he  held 
himself  not  guilty  of  murder,  and  added  that  Colson  had 
“  haunted”  him  three  days,  before  he  assented  to  the  com¬ 
mission  of  the  crime. 

Mr.  Hook  then  sent  Marchant,  Murray,  and  Hughes  on 
board  the  Sally,  and  then  started  in  pursuit  of  Colson.  Not 
finding  him  before  night,  he  obtained  the  assistance  of  a 
military  patrol,  to  guard  the  shore.  The  next  morning,  it  was 
ascertained  that  Colson  had  gone  toward  Gabberouse.  A 
guard  was  sent  in  that  direction,  and  returned  at  eight  P.  M. 
with  Colson  in  custody.  By  this  time  a  magistrate  had 
arrived  from  Sidney,  and  Marchant  was  examined.  He  re¬ 
peated  the  same  story  he  had  told  Mr.  Hook. 

When  Colson  entered  the  apartment,  he  addressed  himself 
to  Marchant,  in  these  words;  “  Charles,  if  you  had  only  lis¬ 
tened  to  my  advice,  we  should  not  have  come  to  this.”  The 
judge  asked  Marchant  what  was  the  meaning  of  this  exclama¬ 
tion,  but  he  made  no  reply.  Colson  then  said,  that  he  “  knew, 
that  he  had  got  to  die,  and  would  tell  the  truth.”  His  con¬ 
fession  was  as  follows: 

He  was  forward  when  he  heard  Marchant  strike  the  blow 
that  killed  the  mate,  and  also  heard  the  mate  fall  from  the 
hen-coop  upon  the  deck.  He  went  aft,  and  found  Marchant 
throwing  the  body  of  Jenkins  overboard.  After  the  corpse 
was  thrown  out  of  the  vessel,  Marchant  took  up  a  bolt,  and 
swore,  that  if  he,  Colson,  did  not  instantly  go  below,  and  kill 
the  captain,  he  should  share  the  fate  of  Jenkins.  Colson, 
fearing  for  his  own  life,  then  went  into  the  cabin,  with  an  axe; 
but  as  he  approached  the  birth  where  the  captain  was  sleep¬ 
ing,  his  heart  failed  him,  and  he  ran  back  to  the  steps  of  the 


CHARLES  MARCHANT. 


81 

companion  ladder.  Iffarchant  came  to  him,  and  again  told 
him,  that  if  he  did  not  kill  the  captain,  he  should  die  himself 
He,  Colson,  then  went  to  the  birth,  and  struck  the  captain 
with  his  axe.  The  captain  screamed,  and  cried  u  murder;” 
whereat  Mai  chant  sprung  into  the  cabin,  seized  the  captain 
and  pulled  him  out  of  his  birth,  and  he,  Colson,  then  killed  him 
on  the  cabin  floor.  He  then  assisted  Marchant  to  haul  the 
body  up  the  companion  stairs,  and  to  thrust  it  through  a  port¬ 
hole  into  the  sea. 

Marchant  offered  no  reply  to  this  statement.  As  soon  as 
the  examination  was  over,  the  hands  of  the  prisoners  were 
tied,  and  they  were  marched  off  to  Sidney,  under  the  charge  of 
a  guard. 

In  due  time,  Marchant  and  Colson  were  brought  to  Boston. 
On  the  twenty-ninth  of  November  they  were  arraigned  at  the 
bar  of  the  Circuit  Court  of  the  United  States,  held  in  Boston, 
and  four  bills  of  indictment  were  presented  against  them. 
The  first,  for  the  felonious  homicide  of  Edward  Selfridge;  the 
second,  for  the  murder  of  Thomas  Paine  Jenkins;  the  third, 
for  a  revolt,  and  for  piratically  running  away  with  the 
schooner  Fairy  and  her  cargo;  and  the  fourth,  for  piracy  and 
murder. 

By  virtue  of  a  previous  order,  made  at  the  motion  of  coun¬ 
sel,  Charles  Marchant,  alias  John  Duncan  White,  was  brought 
up  for  a  separate  trial. 

Murray ,  in  addition  to  what  we  have  already  related,  testi¬ 
fied  that  Marchant  and  Colson,  after  the  commission  of  the 
two  murders,  had  threatened  to  take  away  his  life  if  he  informed 
against  them.  They  told  him,  that  they  might  as  easily  have 
killed  him  as  the  captain  and  mate;  and  that  they  always  kept 
loaded  pistols  on  deck.  On  the  way  from  Sidney  to  Louis- 
burg,  Marchant  had  furthermore  told  the  witness,  that  he 
might  thank  him  for  his  life,  for  had  he,  Marchant,  followed 
the  acjvice  of  Colson,  he,  Murrav,  would  not  then  have  been 
alive.  He  also  stated,  that  before  the  murder,  Marchant  had 
asked  him  if  there  was  money  on  board,  and  said  that  he 
thought  there  must  be  himself. 

Abigail  Jenkins ,  mother  of  the  deceased  mate,  said  that  the 
first  house  to  which  the  prisoners  came,  in  Sidney,  belonged 
to  her  daughter,  the  sister  of  the  murdered  Jenkins. 

The  substance  of  the  rest  of  the  evidence  has  been  given 
in  our  narrative.  It  was  full,  clear,  and  distinct,  without  the 
slightest  discrepancy. 

In  the  defence  of  the  prisoner  it  was  admitted,  that  on  the 


82 


CHARLES  MARCHANT. 


night  of  the  twenty-eighth  of  August,  he  and  Jenkins  were 
together,  on  the  watch.  The  prisoner  slept  at  the  helm;  at 
which  circumstance  the  mate  was  very  angry,  and  after  some 
altercation,  struck  him  twice.  Marchant  returned  the  second 
blow  with  such  force,  as  to  strike  Jenkins  into  the  sea,  and 
he  instantly  sunk  and  was  drowned.  He  immediately  informed 
Colson  of  what  he  had  done,  who  instantly  proposed  to  put  in 
execution  a  revenge  he  had  been  for  some  days  devising, 
on  the  captain,  for  having  thrown  water  in  his  face.  This 
vengeance  Colson  did  immediately  execute.  Whence  the 
counsel,  in  a  learned  and  able  speech,  argued,  that  the  prison¬ 
er  Marchant  was  guilty  of  manslaughter  only. 

The  jury  returned  a  verdict  of  Guilty. 

When  the  verdict  was  pronounced,  the  prisoner,  who  ap¬ 
peared  greatly  agitated,  asked  if  he  might  be  allowed  to  speak 
a  few  words  to  the  jury.  He  was  informed  by  the  court  that 
such  a  proceeding  was  improper  at  that  time,  inasmuch  as 
he  had  been  fairly  tried  and  legally  convicted;  but,  that  if  he 
had  any  remarks  to  offer,  when  brought  forward  to  receive 
sentence,  they  would  be  heard.  On  hearing  this,  he  burst  in¬ 
to  tears,  and  protested  that  he  was  innocent  of  the  murder. 
He  was  a  foreigner,  he  said,  far  from  his  family  and  connex¬ 
ions,  in  a  strange  land,  and  destitute  alike  of  friends  and 
money.  He  declared  that  his  trial  had  been  unfairly  con¬ 
ducted,  and  that  the  verdict  of  the  jury  was  cruel  and  unjust. 
He  continued  to  hold  forth  in  this  strain,  till  remanded  to 
prison. 

On  the  twentieth  of  December,  Sylvester  Colson,  alias 
Winslow  Curtis,  was  placed  at  the  bar,  and  an  indictment  was 
presented  against  him  on  four  counts: 

First;  On  the  supposition  that  the  murder  was  complete; 
that  Edward  Selfridge  was  killed  on  board  the  vessel  and 
thrown  into  the  sea,  dead;  that  the  deed  was  perpetrated  with 
a  hatchet,  by  Colson  as  principal,  and  Marchant  as  accessary. 

Second;  That  Marchant  was  principal  and  Colson 
accessary;  other  circumstances  being  as  described  in  the  first 
count. 

Third;  Supposing  that  the  crime  was  perpetrated  in  a 
manner  different  from  the  allegations  of  the  first  count,  and 
charging  Colson  and  Marchant  jointly  with  having  thrown 
the  living  body  into  the  sea. 

Fourth;  On  the  ground  that  divers  wounds  were  inflicted  by 
two  persons  jointly,  which  were  not  instantly  mortal,  and  that 
the  body  was  cast  into  the  sea  while  a  spark  of  life  was  yet 


CHARLES  MARCHANT.  83 

remaining,  death  being  the  consequence  of  all  these  causes 
combined. 

Francis  Pike ,  mate  of  the  schooner  Sally,  swore,  that  or 
seeing  Marchant  and  Colson  near  Louisburg,  before  their  ap¬ 
prehension,  they  gave  the  same  relation  of  the  supposed  loss 
of  the  supposed  brig  Fame,  that  has  before  been  related,  ex¬ 
cepting  that  they  said  the  master’s  name  was  Francis  Avery, 

and  Colson  said,  “  he  was  a  d - d  rascal,  and  as  green  as  a 

cabbage  leaf.” 

Murray  testified  that  Colson,  after  the  murder,  asked  him 
if  he  were  not  glad,  and  that  he  answered  that  he  did  not 
know.  He  feared  death  at  the  hands  of  Colson,  but  always 
meant  to  inform.  When  Colson  was  going  ashore  from  the 
Sally,  he  asked  the  witness  u  not  to  tell,”  who  replied  that  he 
did  not  know  what  he  should  do. 

Hughes  swore,  that  while  standing  on  shore  near  Louis¬ 
burg,  Colson  said  to  him, u  For  God’s  sake  don’t  tell,  for  we 
shall  all  be  hung  if  you  do.”  The  witness  then  asked  whether 
the  captain  or  mate  was  killed  first,  and  he  replied  that  the 
mate  was  first  killed  by  Marchant,  and  the  captain  afterwards 
by  himself.  The  witness  then  asked  him  why  he  did  not  tell 
the  captain,  when  he  went  into  the  cabin;  to  which  he  repli¬ 
ed,  “  The  devil  got  into  me,  and  I  could’nt.”  During  this  con¬ 
versation,  Colson  and  the  witness  were  both  weeping.  The 
Thursday  before,  he  had  heard  Colson  (in  prison)  say  to 
Marchant,  “  If  you  had  taken  my  advice,  and  killed  them  two 
d - d  rascals,  we  should  not  have  been  here.” 

Here  the  prisoner  was  cautioned  by  the  court,  against  tes¬ 
tifying  touching  any  confessions  made  in  prison. 

On  his  cross  examination,  Hughes  said,  that  he  had  no  fear 
of  being  tried  for  the  murder,  whether  the  prisoners  were  con¬ 
victed  or  not.  He  had  been  kept  in  prison  ever  since  he 
landed.  His  cell  was  opposite  to  that  of  Colson,  and  Mar- 
chant’s  was  next  to  Colson’s,  so  that  he  could  hear  them  talk¬ 
ing  together.  He  knew  the  voice  of  Colson,  and  saw  him 
looking  through  the  upper  hole  in  the  door,  when  he  made  the 
remark  above  mentioned. 

Matthew  Newport  testified  to  the  general  good  and  inoffen¬ 
sive  character  of  Colson. 

.  The  rest  of  the  evidence  was  identical  with  that  produced 
against  Marchant. 

After  three  hours’  deliberation,  the  jury  returned  a  verdict 
of  Guilty.  The  prisoner’s  counsel  made  two  motions  for  a 
new  trial,  and  arrest  of  judgment,  on  the  ground  that  a  copy 


84 


CHARLES  MARCHANT. 


of  the  indictment  had  not  been  given  to  the  prisoner  two  days 
before  his  arraignment,  as  the  law  requires.  After  a  long 
argument,  the  motions  were  overruled. 

On  the  twenty-third,  Marchant  and  Colson  were  brought  to 
the  bar,  and  asked  if  they  had  any  reason  why  sentence  of 
death  should  not  be  pronounced  on  them.  Colson  offered 
none,  but  Marchant  protested  his  innocence  anew,  and  made 
some  incoherent  observations.  Sentence  was  then  pronounc¬ 
ed,  and  both  the  prisoners  uttered  the  most  violent  exclama¬ 
tions.  Colson  declared  it  was  the  best  news  he  had  heard  for 
six  months.  Marchant  said  that  he  wished  the  time  to  be 
altered,  so  that  he  might  die  on  the  morrow.  He  should  die 
happy,  for  he  did  not  kill  Jenkins  wilfully.  He  had  received 
two  blows  from  a  Yankee,  and  had  too  much  English  blood  in 
his  veins  not  to  return  one.  He  would  never  suffer  any  man  to 
strike  him  three  times  without  defending  himself.  Colson  knew 
that  he  did  not  kill  Jenkins  wilfully,  and  he  was  willing  to 
meet  him  before  God.  As  he  went  on,  his  action  and  expres¬ 
sion  became  maniacal,  and  he  uttered  such  imprecations  and 
blasphemies  as  we  will  not  shock  our  readers  by  repeating. 
This  dreadful  scene  continued  till  the  prisoners  were  remov¬ 
ed  by  order  of  the  court. 

The  prospect  of  pecuniary  gain  was  so  small  in  this  piracy 
and  murder,  that  we  can  hardly  suppose  it  to  have  been 
the  motive.  Again,  the  provocation  given  by  either  of  the 
sufferers  was  so  trifling,  that  it  appears  almost  incredible  that 
it  could  have  been  an  incentive.  Yet,  one  or  both  of  these 
causes  must  have  driven  these  two  wretches  to  a  crime,  not 
surpassed  in  atrocity  by  any  that  has  come  to  our  knowledge. 
The  evidence  was  perfect  and  conclusive,  in  an  uncommon 
degree. 

While  awaiting  his  execution  in  prison,  Marchant  showed 
no  signs  of  penitence.  He  stated  that  he  belonged  to  Dover, 
in  England,  where  his  father  was  a  pilot.  He  had  been  on  a 
voyage  to  the  Northwest  Coast  of  America;  but  the  master  of 
the  vessel  finding  him  to  be  a  dangerous  man,  set  him  on 
shore  at  the  Sandwich  Islands,  whence  he  worked  his 
passage  to  Boston.  From  some  expressions  that  dropped 
from  him  it  appears  that  he  had  been  a  pirate  before,  and  there 
is  reason  to  believe  that  he  was  one  of  those  pardoned  at 
New-Orleans,  several  years  since,  by  President  Munroe.  He 
acknowledged  that  he  killed  Jenkins,  but  persisted,  to  the  last, 
that  he  did  it  in  his  own  defence. 

The  night  immediately  preceding  the  day  appointed  for  his 


DANIEL  DAVIS  FARMER.  85 

1  1  M  I  i 

execution,  he  made  a  cord  of  his  blanket  and  neck-kerchief, 
and  hanged  himself  on  the  grates  of  his  cell. 

In  person,  Marchant  was  heavy  and  uncommonly  powerful. 
His  face  was  the  index  of  his  mind,  sullen,  and  ferocious. 

Colson,  also,  during  the  first  part  of  his  imprisonment,  ap¬ 
peared  extremely  hardened;  but  being  visited  by  the  Reverend 
Mr.  Tuckerman,  became  fearful  and  contrite.  A  short  time 
before  his  execution  he  evinced  great  distress  of  mind,  and 
often  prayed  fervently  to  his  Maker  for  forgiveness.  He 
showed  much  agitation  in  walking  from  his  cell  to  the  place 
where  the  gibbet  stood,  and  continued  in  the  same  mood  till 
swung  off.  He  acknowledged  his  own  guilt,  and  that  of  his 
comrade.  ' 

He  was  a  man  of  ordinary  stature,  and  without  any  pe¬ 
culiarity  of  person  or  feature.  After  his  body  was  cut  down, 
some  experiments  were  made  on  it  with  a  very  powerful  galvan¬ 
ic  battery,  conducted  by  Doctor  Webster.  The  most  appalling 
effects  were  produced. 


DANIEL  DAVIS  FARMER. 

Daniel  Davis  Farmer,  previous  to  the  perpetration  of  the 
crime  for  which  he  suffered  on  the  gallows,  was  a  respectable 
husbandman  of  Goffstown  in  New  Hampshire.  He  had  a 
wife,  four  children,  and  an  aged  mother,  dependant  on  him 
for  support,  and  so  acquitted  himself  ofhis  duties,  as  to  acquire 
the  reputation  of  a  good  citizen  and  member  of  society. 

There  lived  in  the  vicinity  of  Goffston  a  widow  by  the 
name  of  Anna  Ayer,  and,  unhappily  for  herself,  and  still  more 
so  for  him,  she  became  intimately  acquainted  with  Farmer. 
She  was  a  loose  woman,  and  their  intercourse- soon  assumed 
a  criminal  character.  Toward  the  end  of  the  year  eighteen 
hundred  and  twenty  they  quarrelled,  and  she  made,  on 
the  thirtieth  of  January,  a  declaration,  on  oath,  that  he 
was  the  father  of  a  child  of  which  she  supposed  herself 
about  to  become  the  mother.  It  afterwards  appeared,  that 
if  this  accusation  was  not  a  wilful  perjury,  she  was  at 
least  mistaken  in  the  matter.  Nevertheless,  Farmer,  enraged 
at  the  imputation  cast  on  his  character,  and  perhaps  believing 


86 


DANIEL  DAVIS  FARMER. 


the  charge  to  be  true,  resolved  to  destroy  his  paramour,  and 
thereby  suppress  all  certain  evidence  of  his  guilt.  Speaking 
with  one  Thomas  Hardy,  he  vowed, /‘that  if  ever  he  could 
find  Anna  Ayer  two  rods  from  anybody,  he  would  kill  her.” 
Thus  rapid  is  the  career  of  guilt,  and  thus  surely  does  one 
crime  follow  another. 

He  executed  his  purpose  in  the  most  deliberate  and  bar¬ 
barous  manner.  Supposing  that  his  intended  victim  would 
be  less  able  to  defend  herself  if  intoxicated,  on  the  afternoon 
of  the  fourth  of  April,  he  purchased  rum,  and  in  the  evening 
carried  it  to  Anna  Ayer’s  house.  He  was  obliged  to  walk 
five  miles,  from  the  shop  where  he  filled  his  bottle,  to  the 
scene  of  his  crime,  so  that  he  had  ample  time  for  reflection. 
He  carried  with  him  a  large  club,  that  a  weapon  might  not  be 
lacking.  ^ 

Anna  Ayer  had  with  her,  her  child,  a  girl  thirteen  or  four¬ 
teen  years  old,  and,  knowing  that  the  infant  would  probably 
,  alarm  the  neighbourhood  while  he  was  wreaking  his  ven¬ 
geance  on  the  mother,  he  determined  to  murder  her  also 
To  this  double  murder  he  intended  to  add  the  crime  of  arson; 
and  by  burning  the  house  and  the  bodies  of  the  slain,  to  re¬ 
move  all  evidence  of  his  iniquity.  He  expected  that  in  this 
way  his  almost  unequalled  wickedness  would  remain  undis¬ 
covered,  and  that  he  should  escape  with  impunity.  It  was 
otherwise  ordered;  the  eye  of  Omniscience  was  on  him;  and 
the  hand  of  Providence  was  visible  in  the  means  by  which  he 
was  brought  to  justice. 

He  reached  the  house  of  the  widow  Ayer,  at  about  nine 
in  the  evening,  and  knocked  for  admittance.  The  child  re¬ 
monstrated  against  letting  him  in;  nevertheless,  Mrs.  Ayer 
rose  and  opened  the  door.  Farmer  produced  his  bottle,  and 
at  his  invitation  the  widow  drank  three  times.  He  then  ask¬ 
ed  her  to  go  out  with  him,  and  she  complied;  but  if  his  object 
was  to  kill  her  out  of  doors,  his  heart  failed  him,  for  in  about 
len  minutes  they  returned.  He  put  his  club  down  by  the 
chimney,  seated  himself,  and  they  began  to  converse  on  in¬ 
different  subjects. 

Suddenly,  F armer,  snatched  his  club,  and  said,  “Mrs.  Ayer, 
I’ll  kill  you  first,  and  then  you  may  kill  me.”  With  that,  he 
struck  the  woman  on  the  head  as  she  was  rising  from  her 
chair,  and  she  fell  to  the  floor.  The  child  screamed  and  ran 
toward  the  door,  but  before  she  reached  it,  Farmer  overtook, 
and  struck  her  down,  senseless.  He  gave  both  mother  and 
daughter  so  many  blows  that  he  believed  them  dead,  and  then 


DANIEL  DAVIS  FARMER. 


87 


set  about  burning  the  house.  At  this  moment  the  child  re¬ 
covered  her  senses,  and  saw  that  the  murderer  was  burning 
pieces  of  cloth,  and  scattering  coals  over  the  floor.  Mrs.  Ayer 
was  lying  close  to  the  bed,  and  the  fire  was  all  about  the  room, 
some  of  it  very  near  her,  and  two  of  the  chairs  were  in  the  fire 
place. 

The  girl  had  the  courage  and  presence  of  mind,  in  this 
dreadful  situation,  to  lie  still  and  counterfeit  death,  till  the 
assassin  went  away.  She  then  crawled  to  the  door,  and  drove 
a  nail  over  the  latch  with  an  axe.  She  found  no  water  where¬ 
with  to  quench  the  coals,  as  F armer  had  taken  the  precaution 
to  throw  it  away,  but  managed  to  put  them  out  with  a  pot  of 
beer.  This  done,  she  raised  her  mother,  assisted  her  into  bed, 
and  then  got  in  herself. 

In  the  morning,  when  the  neighbours  were  apprized  of  the 
outrage,  and  visited  the  house,  they  found  outside  the  door 
a  large  stone,  with  clotted  hair  and  blood  adhering  to  it.  On 
comparison,  the  hair  proved  to  be  that  of  Anna  Ayer,  the 
younger.  There  was  blood  on  the  threshold,  and  the  door  was 
stained  with  the  same  dark  red  colour.  The  floor  was  burnt 
through  in  two  places,  and  there  were  other  marks  of  fire  about 
the  room.  The  widow  Ayer  still  survived,  but  was  in  a  par¬ 
tial  lethargy.  She  had  a  deep  wound  on  the  right  side  of  her 
head,  and  the  hair  was  doubled  into  it,  by  the  weapon  which 
had  given  the  blow.  A  small  iron  shovel  lay  on  the  floor, 
bloody,  and  much  bent.  The  tongs,  likewise,  bore  the  marks 
of  murder,  and  were  broken.  The  club  which  Farmer  had 
used  was  found  behind  the  door,  broken,  as  with  repeated 
blows;  and  also  a  mitten,  which  proved  to  have  belonged  to 
the  murderer. 

On  the  arrival  of  a  physician,  he  examined  the  wounds  of 
the  deceased,  and  thought  that  the  one  on  the  head  had  been 
made  by  two  different  blows.  The  skull  was  broken,  and  the 
dura  mater ,  which  plainly  appeared,  was  wounded.  There 
was  another  wound  over  the  eye.  The  doctor  was  of 
opinion  that  the  injury  was  mortal,  and  told  Mrs.  Ayer  so. 
She  told  him,  that  “  if  it  were  God’s  will,  she  hoped  she 
should  not  die  by  the  hands  of  that  man.”  She  lingered  eight 
days,  manifesting  not  the  most  forgiving  temper,  and  frequent¬ 
ly  venting  imprecations  on  Farmer-,  whom,  she  said,  she 
hoped  she  should  live  to  see  hanged.  To  those  who  convers¬ 
ed  with  her,  she  gave  an  account  of  the  proceedings  of  the 
night  of  the  fourth  of  April,  much  the  same  with  that  we 
have  related 


88 


DANIEL  DAVIS  FARMER. 


Farmer,  after  his  crime,  did  not  fly;  but  remained  about  his 
usual  places  of  resort  till  he  was  apprehended,  when  he  con¬ 
fessed  his  guilt  to  more  than  one.  His  general  confessions 
were  not  received  in  evidence  at  his  trial;  but  witnesses  were 
allowed  to  testify,  that  he  had  acknowledged  the  mitten  found  in 
the  Widow  Ayer’s  house  was  his. 

On  the  ninth  of  October,  eighteen  hundred  and  twenty  one, 
Daniel  Davis  Farmer  was  arraigned  before  the  Superior 
Court  of  Judicature  at  Amherst,  for  wilful  murder,  to  which 
indictment  he  pleaded  not  guilty. 

All  the  facts  above  recounted,  were  proved  by  a  number 
of  witnesses;  the  principal  of  whom  was  Anna  Ayer,  the 
daughter  of  the  deceased 

The  counsel  for  the  prisoner  contended  that  the  deed 
amounted  only  to  manslaughter,  as  there  was  no  evidence  of 
malice  prepense,  excepting  the  testimony  of  one  witness,  who 
himself  thought  that  the  threat  uttered  by  the  prisoner  was  not 
serious,  and  had,  beside,  contradicted  himself.  The  general 
character  of  the  witness  Anna  Ayer,  had  been  impeached  by 
two  witnesses;  and  she  had  not  been  brought  up  in  a  school 
where  she  would  have  been  likely  to  have  learned  the  virtue  of 
moral  obligations.  There  was  strong  evidence  of  the  good 
character  of  the  prisoner,  previous  to  the  transaction  for 
which  he  was  now  called  to  account.  There  was  a  strong 
existing  excitement  against  him.  It  was  not  clear  that  the 
deceased  died  of  wounds  inflicted  by  his  hand  ;  especially  as 
she  had  not  been  treated  in  the  most  skilful  manner,  and  the 
surgeon  might,  in  fact,  be  chargeable  with  her  blood.  The 
confessions  of  the  prisoner  ought  to  have  no  weight  against 
him,  having  been  made  by  advice  of  unauthorised  persons, 
and  with  the  hope  of  thereby  assuring  lenity.  Furthermore, 
it  was  argued,  thOv  excessive  enormity  of  the  prisoner’s  of¬ 
fence,  ought  to  be  received  as  a  proof  that  it  was  not 
perpetrated  deliberately. 

*  These  were  the  grounds  of  the  defence,  but  they  could 
not  avail  against  a  mass  of  direct  and  indirect  evidence. 
After  a  deliberation  of  one  hour,  the  jury  returned  a  verdict 
of  guilty,  and  sentence  of  death  was  pronounced. 

Farmer,  after  his  sentence,  evinced  a  sincere  contrition 
for  his  crime,  and  met  his  fate  in  a  becoming  manner. 


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Murder  of  Denegri 


HENRY  PHILLIPS. 


Th )  following  history  of  the  life  of  Henry  Phillips  is 
corroborated  by  other  testimony  than  his  own  word,  and  is, 
in  our  opinion,  accurate  to  the  most  minute  particular. 

He  was  born  in  Caermarthen,  in  Wales.  His  father  was 
an  inn-keeper.  At  nine  years  of  age  he  went  to  sea,  in  a 
vessel  which  was  captured  by  a  French  privateer,  and  carried 
into  Genoa,  where  he  was  kept  in  prison  for  some  months  * 
After  his  master  was  exchanged,  our  hero  afccompanied  him 
to  London,  and  attended  him  in  jail  (where  he  was  confined  for 
debt,)  in  the  capacity  of  a  servant,  for  three  years.  At  the 
end  of  that  time,  Captain  Long,  for  so  was  the  gentleman 
termed,  sailed  again  in  the  Golden  Fleece,  for  Lisbon,  and 
Phillips  shipped  with  him.  After  several  voyages  of  little 
interest,  Phillips  sailed  for  Sierra  Leone,  where  he  became 
the  servant  of  Colonel  Maxwell,  with  whom,  at  the  end  of 
two  years,  he  went  to  London;  and  having  received  the 
legacy  of  a  gentleman  who  had  been  his  father’s  friend,  took 
the  name  by  which  he  afterward  went,  viz.  Henry  Phillips. 
His  proper  family  name  was  Davis.  The  property  thus  ob¬ 
tained  was  a  competency  to  any  man  disposed  to  live  on  shore. 

He  was,  however,  early  and  ever  attached  to  a  maritime 
life,  and  was  soon  floating  on  the  ocean  again.  As  to  his 
character,  he  was  remarkable  among  his  shipmates  fox  his 
good  nature  and  steady  habits,  and  esteemed  entirely  worthy 
of  trust  by  his  officers. 

In  October,  eighteen  hundred  and  sixteen,  he  came  to 
Boston,  and  took  lodgings  in  the  Roebuck  tavern,  where  the 
F ranklin  Hotel  now  stands ;  and  soon  after  shipped  on  board  the 
United  States  Revenue  Cutter.  When  he  came  on  shore, 
he  spent  the  principal  part  of  his  time  at  the  said  Roebuck 
tavern. 

On  the  evening  of  the  first  of  December  Phillips  went  to 
the  Roebuck,  where  he  found  several  foreigners,  one  of  them 
named  Vautier,  and  another  Gaspard  Denegri,  an  Italian.  A 
young  man  by  the  name  of  Foster  was  reading  the  Bible, 
and  Denegri  came  behind  him  and  blew  out  the  candle;  and 
when  it  was  re-lighted,  again  blew  it  out.  On  this.  Foster 


90 


HENRY  PHILLIPS. 


exclaimed  that  it  was  very  hard  he  could  not  be  allowed  to 
read  the  Bible  without  having  his  light  blown  out,  and 
Phillips  offered  to  hold  the  candle,  threatening  to  strike,  or 
blow  out  the  brains  of  any  person  who  should  repeat  the 
provocation.  He  took  the  light,  and  it  was  again  blown  out; 
and  he  again  lighted  it,  and  held  it  as  before,  till  Foster  had 
done  reading. 

Yautier  then  came  in,  and  asked  Foster  if  he  had  threatened 
to  strike  any  one  for  blowing  out  a  candle.  Foster  then  re¬ 
plied  that  it  was  Phillips  and  not  he,  who  had  so  threatened. 
Vautier  rejoined  that  he  should  think  no  more  of  Denegri,  or 
of  his  conduct,  than  of  a  child’s,  and  asked  Phillips  if  the 
offensive  words  were  his.  Phillips  answered,  u  yes;  and  the 
man  that  blows  out  the  candle  Pll  blow  out  his  brains.” 
Vautier  pulled  off  his  coat,  and  desired  Phillips  to  do  the 
same,  in  order  to  fight.  Denegri  also  proposed  to  fight,  but 
Phillips  refused,  and  buttoned  up  his  jacket.  Vautier  then 
thrust  his  fist  in  Phillip’s  face,  who  would  have  fought,  had 
not  Mrs.  Foster,  the  mistress  of  the'  house,  interfered,  and 
took  him  out  of  the  room.  While  Phillips  was  absent 
Denegri  was  very  quarrelsome.  When  Phillips  returned 
order  was  restored,  and  Yautier  proposed  to  drink  with  him. 
Phillips  said  he  would  drink  a  gallon  with  him,  and,  if  he 
wanted  it,  give  him  another.  They  did  not  drink  together, 
however,  and  shortly  after  the  foreigners  all  went  away. 

In  about  half  an  hour  Denegri  came  back.  Some  person 
present  said  that  he  had  a  knife,  and  the  suggestion  created 
much  uneasiness,  the  more  that  Denegri  was  an  Italian. 
Mrs.  Foster  turned  him  out  of  the  house,  and  told  him  to  go 
home,  but  he  remained  at  the  door. 

Shortly  after,  a  young  man  named  Kerr,  would  have  left 
the  house  to  go  home,  but  was  afraid  of  Denegri,  who,  he 
feared,  was  lurking  about  the  house  with  intent  to  stab  some 
one.  Phillips,  and  another  person  named  McCann,  offered  to 
go  with  and  protect  him.  Charles  Rodgers  went  out  at  the 
*  same  time.  They  armed  themselves  as  they  went,  with  dif¬ 
ferent  implements.  Phillips  took  a  loggerhead  which  had 
been  heating  in  the  fire,  and  McCann  took  a  rolling-pin. 
Rodgers  went  first,  but  the  others  overtook  him  before  he  got 
to  the  end  of  the  back  passage  way.  After  they  got  into  the 
street,  (Ann  Street)  they  saw  Denegri  come  from  the  front 
and  walk  round  to  the  back  door,  where  he  rapped;  and  with 
the  words  u  Holloa  ship-mate,”  Phillips  struck  him  with  the 
loggerhead  and  brought  him  down.  He  struck  one  more 


HENRY  PHILLIPS. 


91 


blow  after  the  Italian  fell;  and  Me  Cann,  getting  astride  upon 
Denegri,  beat  him  with  the  rolling-pin.  Rodgers  came  up, 
and  Phillips  again  struck  the  man,  on  the  thigh.  Phillips  and 
McCann  next  rolled  Denegri  over,  two  or  three  times,  in 
search  of  a  knife.  They  then  carried  him  into  the  ho  se,  and 
set  him  in  a  chair,  but  as  he  eppeared  to  be  fainting  >;.cy  lai  i 
him  on  a  sofa.  Phillips  said,  u  I  have  found  the  kuiTe,  and 
have  got  it  in  my  pocket.”  He  had,  in  fact,  taken  the  knife 
from  Kerr,  not  from  the  Italian,  but  it  s  prolate  that  in  such 
a  moment,  he  might  have  forgotten  how  he  obtained  it.  Some 
of  the  company  asked  to  see  the  weapon,  but  he  refused  to 
show  it.  Being  strongly  persuaded,  however,  he  produced  it, 
and  it  proved  to  be  a  small  knife  belonging  to  the  house.  He 
threw  it  on  the  table  and  went  away,  saying  that  if  he  should 
stav  in  the  house  any  longer  his  life  would  be  in  danger. 

In  addition  to  these  particulars,  it  may  not  be  improper  to 
state,  that  there  was  no  acquaintance  between  Phillips  and 
Denegri,  and  that  the  previous  quarrel  was  rather  between 
Yautier  and  our  hero,  than  between  him  and  Denegri.  It 
seems,  too,  that  Phillips  had  received  much  and  gross  prov¬ 
ocation  from  Vautier.  When  Phillips  struck  the  fatal  blow  he 
held  the  loggerhead  with  both  hands,  and  smote  with  such 
force  as  to  bend  the  iron. 

Phillips  went  immediately  on  board  the  Revenue  Cutter, 
but  came  on  shore  again  in  the  course  of  the  week  for  pro¬ 
visions.  When  Denegri  died,  which  happened  in  a  few  days, 
he  was  apprehended. 

For  this  homicide  he  was  arraigned,  tried,  found  guilty  and 
sentenced  to  die.  Wfien  sentence  was  pronounced  he  shed 
tears,  and  gave  many  signs  of  agitation  and  grief. 

The  account  Phillips  gave  of  the  affair  was  this.  He 
struck  Denegri  because  he  thought  he  was  about  to  break 
into  the  house,  armed,  with  intent  to  hurt  some  of  the  inmates, 
who  were  women  and  young  lads.  He  had  no  intention  of 
killing  Denegri,  and  after  he  had  struck,  did  not  suppose  him 
to  be  much  hurt.  He  searched  him  for  a  knife,  intending  to 
show  it  to  him  in  the  morning,  and  u  make  him  ashamed  of 
himself.” 

In  this  declaration  he  persisted  till  his  death.  He  behaved 
with  great  propriety  in  prison,  and  at  the  place  of  execution, 
and  died  very  generally  pitied. 

He  said,  before  his  execution,  that  this  was  the  first  time 
he  had  ever  struck  a  man,  intentionally,  and  that  he  had  never 
been  called  to  account  for  any  misdemeanor  before.  He 

5 


JOHN  WILLIAMS. 


.  92 

stated,  too,  that  his  father  did  not  know  in  what  part  of  the 
world  he  was,  and  anticipated  his  parent’s  grief  at  hearing  of 
his  untimely  and  ignominious  death,  with  the  most  lively  emo¬ 
tion. 

Two  young  men  thus  lost  their  lives,  one  without  giving 
the  slightest  offence  to  any  individual  at  the  time  he  met  his 
fate.  There  seems  to  have  been  some  cowardice  in  the  way 
in  which  Phillips  despatched  his  victim.  He  and  his  com¬ 
panions,  four  In  number,  might  without  much  danger  have 
seized  and  searched  one  man,  even  supposing  him  to  have 
been  armed.  If  Phillips  believed,  as  we  see  no  reason  to 
doubt,  that  the  foreigner  carried  a  concealed  weapon,  there 
was  no  need  to  slay  him  barbarously,  with  a  bar  of  iron,  to 
secure  himself  or  others.  He  appears  to  have  seized  the 
opportunity  for  destruction,  not  defence.  He  approached  the 
Italian  from  behind,  and  without  giving  him  a  chance  to  fly 
or  resist,  gave  him  a  deadly  blow  with  all  his  strength,  and, 
lest  it  should  not  have  sufficed,  repeated  it.  May  his  fate  be 
a  warning  to  deter  others  from  using  mortal  weapons  on 
slight  provocation  and  with  slight  reason,  for  no  man  has  a 
right  to  destroy  the  life  of  his  fellow  to  secure  himself  or 
others  from  possible  dangers.  Nothing  but  the  absolute  and 
immediate  necessity  of  self  defence  can  in  any-wise  justify 
such  doings. 

✓ 


JOHN  WILLIAMS. 

John  Williams  was  born  at  Chazee  in  the  state  of  New 
York,  in  seventeen  hundred  and  eighty-nine.  He  was  sent  to 
school  at  Montreal,  and  received  a  tolerable  education.  At 
the  age  of  seventeen  he  was  placed  in  the  office  of  an  attor¬ 
ney,  to  study  law  seven  years.  Being  reprimanded  by  the 
attorney  and  chastised  by  hie  father,  on  a  suspicion  of  having 
kept  bad  company,  he  refused  to  attend  farther  to  his  studies. 

For  this  contumacy,  his  father  caused  him  to  be  thrown  into 
jail,  but  finding,  after  three  weeks  imprisonment,  that  severi¬ 
ty  had  no  effect  on  him,  placed  him  in  a  counting  house. 
Here  Williams  satisfied  his  principal  for  six  months,  and  was 
then  again  accused  of  the  same,  and  worse  misdemeanors. 


JOHN  WILLIAMS. 


93 


Irritated  at  this,  he  robbed  his  master  of  a  large  amount, 
and  took  passage  in  a  brig  for  Quebec. 

He  then  shipped  on  board  a  vessel  bound  to  England,  and 
on  his  arrival  on  the  British  shores  was  impressed,  and  for¬ 
ced  on  board  a  man  of  war.  He  deserted,  was  taken,  and 
again  made  his  escape,  and  to  avoid  being  once ‘more  impress¬ 
ed,  assumed  the  character  of  a  Frenchman,  which  he  was 
perfectly  qualified  to  sustain,  as  during  his  residence  at  Mon¬ 
treal  he  had  learned  to  speak  the  French  language  fluently. 

Going  out  one  evening,  and  passing  St.  George’s  Dock, 
he  was  seized  by  fourteen  men,  who  asked  him  to  what  coun¬ 
try  he  belonged.  He  answered  them  in  French,  when,  with 
v  many  threats,  they  ordered  him  to  speak  English.  As  he 
still  continued  to  pretend  ignorance  of  the  English  tongue, 
they  took  him  to  a  rendezvous  and  kept  him  all  night. 

In  the  morning  he  was  taken  before  two  officers  who  spoke 
French,  and  examined.  He  asserted  that  he  was  a  native  of 
the  Isle  of  France,  on  which  he  was  sent  to  Liverpool  and 
detained  five  weeks,  when  he  was  examined  before  the  Lord 
Mayor;  and  still  passing  for  a  Frenchman,  was  discharged. 

He  next  sailed  to  South  America,  and  at  Buenos  Ayres 
shipped  on  board  a  Brazilian  privateer,  but  not  receiving  his 
wages,  entered  a  vessel  bound  to  Baltimore.  Scarcely  had 
the  vessel  gained  the  outer  harbor,  when  it  was  boarded  by 
a  boat  belonging  to  a  British  frigate.  The  pretence  of  being 
a  Frenchman  did  not,  this  time,  avail  our  hero.  The  officer 
took  him  on  board  the  frigate,  in  order,  as  he  said,  that  he 
might  be  taught  to  speak  English.  In  about  eight  weeks  the 
vessel  anchored  in  Lockerin  Bay,  in  Scotland.  Here,  being 
sent  on  shore,  Williams  seized  the  first  opportunity  to  escape. 
As  soon  as  the  boat  touched  the  land  he  ran,  and  the  Master’s 
Mate  ran  after,  and  overtook  him.  Williams  knocked  the 
man  down,  stamped  on  him,  and  made  good  his  escape. 

He  then  took  passage  in  a  small  fishing  vessel  for  Liver¬ 
pool.  Off  Lancaster  the  vessel  encountered  a  severe  gale, 
and  in  endeavoring  to  beat  into  Lancaster  she  ran  on  the  edge 
of  a  bank,  and  stuck  fast  for  half  an  hour;  then  drifted  off 
again.  She  continued  to  strike  and  drift  for  some  time, 
when  finding  the  water  gaining  fast  in  the  hold,  the  master 
let  go  an  anchor,  though  every  sea  swept  the  deck.  The  ca¬ 
ble  parted  in  less  than  half  an  hour,  but  Williams  took  off  the 
hatch-,  and  dived  into  the  hold,  which  was  more  than  half  full 
of  water.  He  succeeded  in  bringing  up  a  grapnel,  with  which 


94 


JOHN  WILLIAMS. 


another  attempt  was  made  to  hold  the  vessel.  The  rope  broke 
as  before. 

The  cry  u  I  am  drowning,”  was  now  heard  in  the  hold. 
Williams  again  raised  the  hatches,  plunged  in,  and  brought 
up  an  old  woman,  who,  but  for  his  assistance,  could  not  have 
survived  many  minutes. 

All  hope  of  saving  the  vessel  being  over,  they  took  the 
compass  from  the  binacle  and  leaped  into  a  two  oared  boat. 
The  sea  ran  high,  and  the  land  was  three  miles  distant;  yet, 
by  the  care  of  a  merciful  Providence,  they  all  reached  tho 
shore  in  safety. 

Having  reached  Liverpool,  Williams  shipped  on  board  a 
merchant  vessel  bound  for  Barbadoes.  His  usual  luck  at¬ 
tended  him:  he  had  been  at  sea  but  a  fortnight  when  he  was 
again  impressed,  and  taken  on  board  the  frigate  Bucephalus. 

The  frigate  sailed  to  Xerexie  and  came  to  anchor,  while 
the  boats  went  up  the  river  to  take  a  French  cutter.  After 
a  battle  of  more  than  an  hour,  the  Frenchman  hauled  down 
his  colors.  The  prize  carried  twelve  guns,  and  had  a  crew 
of  sixty  men.  After  taking  possession,  Williams  and  some 
others  went  on  shore,  in  violation  of  their  orders,  for  which 
they  received  a  dozen  lashes  each  on  their  return  to  the 
Bucephalus. 

After  this  the  frigate  sailed  for  India,  and  carried  Williams 
as  far  as  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope.  He  was  resolved  to  de¬ 
sert,  and  being  sent  on  shore  in  the  captain’s  gig,  availed 
himself  of  the  opportunity.  He  fled  to  the  Table  Mountain, 
which  he  ascended  with  much  difficulty,  through  bushes  and 
briers,  and  other  obstacles,  till  he  reached  the  top.  There  he 
sat  down  to  gaze  on  the  shipping  in  the  harbor,  and  regaled 
himself  with  bread  and  grapes.  Then,  wandering  in  the 
thickets,  he  heard  a  dreadful  howling,  and  saw  a  large  tiger 
approaching  him.  Flight  would  have  availed  him  nothing, 
and  he  therefore  lay  down  to  await  the  beast’s  pleasure.  He 
was  once  more  preserved;  the  tiger  pursued  his  way  without 
noticing  him. 

Williams  remained  on  the  mountain  three  days,  when,  to 
his  great  joy,  he  saw  the  Bucephalus  weigh  anchor  and  leave 
the  harbor.  He  then  went  down  and  shipped  for  Brazil  on 
board  the  brig  Rattler. 

On  the  arrival  of  the  brig  at  Rio  de  Janeiro,  Williams  was 
sent  on  shore  for  water.  He  had  fixed  the  hose  so  as  to  convey 
the  water  from  the  spring  to  the  boat,  when  a  black  slave 
came  with  a  bucket,  for  water,  and  displaced  the  hose.  Not 


'  JOHN  WILLIAMS. 


95 


pleased  at  this,  Williams  gave  him  a  push.  A  Portuguese 
soldier  then  came  up  and  struck  our  hero  with  a  cane,  and 
Williams,  returning  the  blow  with  his  fist,  knocked  the  man 
down.  The  Portuguese  called  for  the  guard,  who  came  up 
and  took  the  seaman  into  custody;  and  the  next  day  he  was 
examined  before  a  magistrate,  and  sentenced  to  five  weeks’ 
imprisonment.  This  was  the  most  disagreeable  of  all  his  ad¬ 
ventures,  for  he  was  confined  in  a  large  room  in  company 
with  many  negroes,  and  scantily  fed  on  bread  and  water. 

When  he  was  released,  he  inquired  for  the  Rattler,  and 
learned  that  she  had  sailed,  with  his  clothes  on  board.  Thus 
was  he  left  destitute  in  a  strange  land;  but  he  found  a  com¬ 
passionate  gentleman  who  harbored  him  till  he  shipped  again* 
for  Buenos  Ayres. 

A  fortnight  after  his  arrival  in  that  city  the  vessel  in  which 
he  came  was  sold,  and  he  went  on  shore  with  his  effects, 
which  an  old  stocking  sufficed  to  contain.  He  passed  three 
weeks  in  the  place  without  any  mischance  or  adventure  of 
any  kind;  but  his  evil  genius  pursued  him,  and  he  could  not 
remain  long  in  peace.  As  he  one  day  was  walking  the  streets, 
he  happened,  accidentally,  to  jostle  an  officer  and  spatter  his 
clothes.  The  man  of  the  sword  instantly  began  to  beat  him 
with  his  cane,  and  the  more  Williams  apologized  and  hum¬ 
bled  himself  the  harder  he  struck.  Our  hero  lost  patience, 
tripped  up  his  opponent,  took  away  his  cane,  and  returned 
the  beating  with  interest.  A  crowd  of  soldiers  interrupted 
his  recrea  ion,  and  set  him  in  the  stocks,  where  he  remained 
two  hours,  enduring  the  insults  of  the  populace.  He  was 
taken  before  a  court,  sentenced  to  five  weeks’  incarceration, 
and  was  then  thrown  into  prison,  friendless,  penniless,  and 
without  clothes. 

Two  seamen  who  were  kept  in  the  same  room  with  Williams 
sent  for  a  captain  of  artillery,  and  offered  to  enlist  in  his 
company.  Our  hero  made  the  same  offer,  and  the  three 
were  released,  gaily  clothed,  and  received  a  sword  and  twen- 
ty-eight  dollars  in  advance,  each. 

Finding  an  opportunity  to  escape  on  board  a  vessel  just 
ready  to  sail,  Williams  deserted,  and  in  ten  weeks  arrived  at 
Liverpool. 

He  then  shipped  for  Barbadoes,  where,  as  soon  as  he  ar¬ 
rived,  he  was  impressed  on  board  the  British  man  of  war 
brig  Swagger,  commanded  by  Sir  George  Evans.  Two 
months  after  he  heard  that  war  was  declared  between  Great 
Britain  and  the  United  States.  He  went,  with  three  other 


96 


JOHN  WILLIAMS. 


impressed  Americans,  to  the  quarter  deck,  and  taking  upon 
himself  to  act  as  spokesman,  informed  the  commanding  officer 
that  they  would  by  no  means  fight  against  their  country,  and 
begged  that  they  might  either  be  discharged,  or  detained  as 
prisoners  of  war.  Captain  Evans  gave  them  many  abusive 
and  profane  terms,  and  ordered  them  to  go  forward  again. 
Williams  only  persisted  in  his  remonstrance,  whereupon  Sir 
George  Evans  lost  his  temper,  and  struck  the  sailor  seven  or 
eight  blows  on  the  head  with  his  speaking  trumpet.  Never¬ 
theless,  Williams  refused  to  be  silent,  atid  the  captain  ordered 
all  hands  to  be  piped  to  witness  his  punishment.  He  w  is 
fastened  to  the  gangway,  and  the  boatswain  bestowed  sixty 
lashes  on  his  naked  back  with  the  cat  o’  nine  tails.  This 
done,  he  was  ordered  to  return  to  his  duty. 

It  seems  to  be  no  matter  of  marvel,  that  Williams  should 
have  become  a  villain.  Misfortune  dogged  his  every  step, 
and  he  certainly  had  some  reason  to  doubt  the  truth  of  the 
maxim,  that  “virtue  is  its  own  reward.”  All  his  honest  and 
praiseworthy  exertions  were  attended  by  disgrace  and  misfor¬ 
tune,  and  in  this  last  instance,  an  action  for  which  he  should 
have  been  honored,  was  rewarded  with  stripes  and  ignominy. 

Cruising  to  windward  of  Barbadoes,  the  Swagger  fell  in 
with  the  American  schooners  Comet  and  Saucy  Jack.  As 
they  came  within  shot,  one  of  them  fired  a  long  gun  at  the 
Swagger,  and  both  ran  up  their  colors.  Williams  now  ac¬ 
costed  Sir  George  Evans,  and  informed  him  that  he  would  not 
assist  to  fire  one  gun  at  a  vessel  bearing  the  flag  of  his  coun¬ 
try.  Writh  many  oaths  .  Sir  George  ordered  him  to  his 
quarters,  and,  as  he  still  refused  to  obey,  caused  him  to  be 
confined  between  decks  below.  The  schooners  now  ranged 
up  within  pistol  shot  and  gave  the  brig  a  volley  of  musketry, 
and  five  or  six  great  guns,  on  which  the  Swagger  delivered 
her  broadside.  The  schooners  returned  it,  and  then  hauled 
their  main  sheets  aft,  and  made  off.  In  less  than  an  hour  they 
were  out  of  shot.  In  this  engagement  the  Swagger  had  two 
men  killed  and  five  wounded,  her  main  shrouds  were  cut 
away,  and  a  round  shot  injured  her  mainmast.  She  repaired 
to  Barbadoes  to  refit,  and  thence  sailed  to  Trinidad. 

On  the  way  to  Trinidad  the  Swagger  captured  a  small 
schooner,  which  was  ordered  to  Martinico,  and  Williams  was 
put  on  board  as  one  of  the  prize  crew.  On  arriving  at  Mar¬ 
tinico  the  officers  took  lodgings  on  shore,  leaving  the  prize  in 
the  care  of  an  old  sailor  named  Thompson. 

A  part  of  the  vessel’s  lading  was  brandy,  and  Thompson 


JOHN  WILLIAMS. 


97 


and  Williams  agreed  with  persons  on  shore  to  sell  as  much 
of  it  as  might  be  wanted.  A  boat  came  off  to  the  vessel  at 
night  and  received  the  liquor,  the  rogues  taking  care  to  fill 
the  casks  with  salt  water,  as  fast  as  they  wTere  emptied.  They 
carried  on  this  trade  a  fortnight,  and  a3  they  received  their 
pay  in  ready  money,  realized  an  hundred  and  sixty  dollars 
each.  Two  days  after,  Williams  found  an  opportunity  to 
desert,  in  a  vessel  bound  to  St.  Thomas. 

Williams  then  made  two  voyages,  the  last  of  which  carried 
him  to  Quebec.  For  fear  of  being  impressed  he  enlisted,  to 
serve  in  the  British  vessels  on  Lake  Champlain,  with  intent 
to  desert  and  visit  his  family  on  the  first  opportunity.  This 
resolution. he  carried  into  effect  on  his  arrival  at  Isle  aux  Noix, 
and  went  to  his  father’s  house,  whence  he  had  been  absent 
eight  years. 

He  soon  became  weary  of  idleness,  and  therefore  enlisted 
in  the  Saratoga,  under  Commodore  McDonough.  He  was 
moved  to  this  by  a  desire  to  revenge  on  the  British  fleet  the 
wrongs  he  had  sustained.  At  the  end  of  two  months  he  had 
an  opportunity  to  gratify  his  feelings,  by  participating  in  the 
memorable  battle  on  Lake  Champlain,  the  particulars  of  which 
are  too  well  known  to  need  a  description  here.  Four  days 
after,  he  received  his  discharge. 

He  made  two  more  voyages,  in  which  nothing  of  interest 
occurred,  and  lastly  found  himself  at  Baltimore.  He  there 
shipped  on  board  the  Schooner  Swift,  Captain  Hackett,  for 
Buenos  Ayres,  where  he  arrived  in  ten  weeks.  Many  quar¬ 
rels  occurred  between  the  captain  and  his  crew  on  the  pas¬ 
sage,  and  five  days  previous  to  entering  port,  the  men  agreed 
to  land  and  not  return  to  the  vessel,  or,  if  they  did  conclude 
to  return  with  Mr.  Hackett,  and  were  no  better  treated,  to 
throw  him  overboard. 

The  day  after  their  arrival  at  Buenos  Ayres,  some  of  the 
crew  quarrelled  with  Mr.  Spiers  of  Baltimore,  the  mate. 
Eight  of  them  left  the  vessel  with  their  baggage,  and  went 
to  the  city,  malgre  all  the  endeavours  of  Mr.  Spiers  to  prevent 
them. 

Though  the  Captain  might  easily  have  engaged  as  many 
seamen  as  he  wanted,  he  only  shipped  three,  and  sailed  with 
his  crew  thus  reduced  in  number,  for  Baltimore.  He  was  a 
man  of  irritable  temper  and  violent  passions-,  when  excited, 
he  did  not  hesitate  to  abuse,  and  even  to  strike  his  men.  On 
one  occasion  he  called  his  men  soldiers,  an  epithet  es¬ 
teemed  very  opprobrious  by  seamen.  Williams  replied  that 


98 


JOHN  WILLIAMS. 


he  had  seen  a  little  of  the  world  and  had  sailed  in  ships 
and  schooners,  but  had  never  been  called  soldier  before. 
Hackett  called  him  a  d — d  rascal  and  bade  him  hold  his 
peace,  at  the  same  time  threatening  to  knock  out  his  brains 
with  a  handspike.  At  the  same  time  he  struck  our  hero  with 
a  rope.  Williams  told  him  that  he  did  not  consider  himself 
an  apprentice,  but  as  good  a  man  as  he,  and  if  struck  again 
he  would  resent  it.  The  master  then  ran  to  the  cabin  and 
returned  with  a  loaded  pair  of  pistols,  swearing  that  he  would 
shoot  Williams,  or  any  other  who  should  dare  to  utter  another 
word.  Williams  was  not  daunted  by  this;  he  tore  open  his 
waistcoat,  exclaiming,  “  Fire,  d — n  you;  don’t  be  a  coward: 
but  mind — if  you  miss  me,  I’ll  not  miss  you.”  This  speech 
appeased  Mr.  Hackett,  who  returned  to  his  cabin,  and  the 
quarrel  ended. 

The  next  day  the  Captain  and  Williams  were  reconciled; 
Mr.  Hackett  saying  that  our  hero  was  as  good  a  man  as  ever 
belonged  to  the  vessel,  and  that  he  esteemed  him  the  more  for 
the  spirit  he  had  exhibited.  He  then  gave  Williams  a  glass 
of  spirits  to  drink  his  health. 

After  they  arrived  at  Baltimore  Captain  Hackett  obtained 
the  command  of  a  fine  schooner  called  the  Plattsburg,  bound 
to  Smyrna,  and  asked  Williams  to  engage  for  the  voyage. 
Our  hero  at  first  refused,  and  reminded  Mr.  Hackett  of  his 
former  maltreatment,  but,  at  last,  suffered  himself  to  be  per¬ 
suaded  and  signed  the  articles.  The  vessel  sailed  on  the 
first  of  July  eighteen  hundred  and  sixteen,  with  a  cargo  of 
coffee  and  forty  thousand  dollars  in  specie,  on  board.  The 
first  mate  was  named  Frederic  Yeizer,  the  second  was  Stephen 
Burnet  Onion,  and  the  supercargo  was  called  Thomas  Bay- 
nard.  The  crew  were,  John  Williams,  Nathaniel  White, 

Francis  Frederic, - Stacy,  John  Smith,  Peter  Peterson, 

Johnson  Stromer,  and  three  more  fore-mast  men.  The  cook 
was  a  Spaniard,  and  the  steward  a  negro,  Edmund  Samberson 
by  name.  From  the  day  the  Plattsburg  sailed,  the  adventures 
of  these  men  were  interwoven  with  those  of  Williams,  and 
before  we  proceed  further  in  our  narrative  we  deem  it  neces¬ 
sary  to  give  a  brief  history  of  some  of  them. 


FRANCIS  FREDERICK, 


Was  bom  in  the  island  of  Minorca,  ana  was  the  youngest 
of  his  father’s  five  sons.  He  never  received  any  education, 
but  was  put  on  board  a  ship  at  the  age  of  eight  years.  The 
history  of  his  early  youth  contains  nothing  worth  the  trouble 
of  recording.  The  first  of  his  adventures  that  may  interest 
the  reader  took  place  at  Baltimore.  He  there  shipped  on 
board  the  schooner  Romp,  whose  crew  consisted  of  sixteen 
persons. 

Dropping  below  Fort  McHenry,  the  Romp  took  on  board 
forty  men,  as  well  as  some  guns  and  ammifnition.  The  captain 
then  piped  all  hands  upon  deck,  and  hoisting  the  flag  of 
Buenos  Ayres,  read  his  orders  to  them.  He  told  them  that 
the  schooner  was  to  be  called  the  San  Ofone,  Gun-boat  No.  6, 
of  Buenos  Ayres.  He  said  that  a  Spanish  brig  was  coming 
out  from  Philadelphia,  laden  with  specie,  and  that  they 
must  take  her.  His  expectations,  however,  were  not  fulfilled, 
and  the  cruise  proving  unsuccessful,  the  vessel  proceeded  to 
Cadiz,  meeting,  searching,  and  distressing  several  Spanish 
and  Portuguese  vessels  on  the  way,  though  nothing  of  great 
value  was  taken  from  any  of  them. 

When  the  vessel  was  nigh  the  harbor  of  Cadiz  she  took  a 
fishing  boat,  in  which  first  lieutenant  Bass  and  sixteen  men 
went  to  explore  the  harbor.  Before  Bass  returned  the 
privateer  took  a  Spanish  vessel,  from  which  the  compass  and 
five  or  six  thousand  dollars  in  specie  were  taken.  The 
Captain  then  caused  her  sails  and  rigging  to  be  cut  in  pieces, 
and  left  her.  The  next  day  the  San  Ofone  captured  two 
more  Spanish  vessels,  and  after  taking  a  part  of  their  lading, 
suffered  one  of  them  to  proceed.  The  other  was  manned  and 
sent  off  on  a  cruise.  After  this  the  San  Ofone  took  a  lugger, 
off' the  Western  Islands,  and  near  Teneriffe  a  polacca.  The 
captain  of  the  latter  vessel  was  stabbed,  and  an  English 
passenger  was  robbed  of  fifteen  thousand  dollars.  Then, 
threatening  the  officers  of  the  polacca  with  death  if  they 
should  deviate  from  their  course,  the  privateer  captain  let  the 
vessel  go. 

Soon  after,  some  dissension  arising  between  the  officers, 
the  second  lieutenant,  sailing  master,  and  boatswain  were 
degraded  from  their  stations  and  sent  before  the  mast.  Here 

5*  -  • 


100 


JOHN  PETERSON  ROG. 


the  sailing  master  informed  the  crew  that  the  vessel  was 
cruising  without  orders,  and  that  they  would  all  be  hung  as 
pirates  if  taken.  The  crew  thereupon  agreed  to  mutiny, 
and  at  night  assembled  on  deck.  The  captain  and  lieutenant 
Bass  were  first  secured,  and  then,  with  the  other  officers,  laid 
in  irons.  The  next  day  falling  in  with  an  English  sloop 
bound  to  the  West  Indies,  they  put  the  officers  on  board,  with 
their  effects  and  share  of  the  prize  money,  and  then  steered 
for  Baltimore.  The  vessel  gained  the  land  at  Norfolk,  where 
the  crew  left  her.  Frederick  went  to  Baltimore  with  his  prize 
money,  which  amounted  to  five  hundred  dollars. 

He  bought  a  small  vessel  in  partnership  with  another  man, 
intending  to  engage  in  the  coasting  trade;  but  hearing  that 
some  of  the  Romp’s  crew  had  been  apprehended,  he  became 
alarmed,  and  took  passage  on  board  the  Plattsburg  for  Gib- 
ralter 


JOHN  PETERSON  ROG, 

Was  born  in  the  year  seventeen  hundred  and  eighty  nine, 
at  Christiansand  in  Denmark.  He  was  sent  early  to  school, 
but  at  the  age  of  twelve  went  to  sea  and  made  two  voyages. 
He  then  returned  home,  was  bound  apprentice  to  asailmaker, 
and  worked  at  the  trade  five  years. 

He  then  sailed  to  the  West  Indies,  and  on  the  passage  was 
kicked  from  the  fore  top  gallant  yard  into  the  sea,  but  was 
saved  by  the  boat  of  an  English  man  of  war.  After  this  he 
made  several  voyages,  in  one  of  which  he  witnessed  a  singular 
affair. 

The*ship  being  becalmed  at  sea,  the  boat  of  an  English 
vessel  came  on  board,  inquiring  if  they  had  seen  any  French 
vessels.  At  the  same  moment  a  boat  boarded  the  ship  on  the 
other  side,  and  a  French  officer  stepped  on  deck  to  inquire 
after  English  vessels.  The  English  officer  proposed  to  the 
Frenchman  that  each  should  return  to  his  ship,  and  desired 
the  Dane  not  to  stir  till  he  should  have  witnessed  the  battle. 
It  soon  took  place,  and  the  English  ship  captured  the  French 
-  one. 

Rog  was  employed  in  the  coasting  trade  till  eighteen 
hundred  and  seven,  when  war  arose  between  Denmark  and 


PETER  PETERSON. 


101 


England.  He  then  entered  a  gun-boat,  one  of  a  fleet  ordered 
to  the  Great  Belt.  On  the  way  they  fell  in  with  an  English 
seventy-four,  and  the  boat  in  which  Rog  sailed,  received  two 
round  shot.  He  was  wounded  in  the  head  with  a  grape  shot. 
The  seventy-four  was  severely  damaged,  and  compelled  to 
sheer  off.  > 

After  assisting  to  capture  several  English  vessels,  Rog  was 
put  on  board  the  Prince  Christian  seventy-four,  and  sailed 
for  the  Belt. 

The  day  after  leaving  Elsineur,the  Prince  Christian  engaged 
a  British  frigate.  During  the  action,  two  seventy-fours  and 
another  frigate  bore  down  on  the  Danish  ship.  The  Prince 
Christian  maintained  the  battle  with  a  seventy-four  on  each 
side  and  two  frigates  astern,  till  he  ran  aground.  He  was 
then  obliged  to  strike.  The  captain,  three  officers,  and  an 
hundred  an  ninety-four  private  men  were  killed  in  the  battle, 
and  two  hundred  were  wounded,  out  of  a  total  number  of  seven 
hundred;  a  carnage  scarcely  equalled  in  maritime  warfare. 
After  the  battle,  the  Prince  Christian  being  past  repairs,  was 
blown  up;  the  wounded,  among  whom  was  Rog,  were  sent 
on  shore,  and  the  rest  were  drafted  into  different  vessels. 

After  this,  Rog  gained  his  livelihood  as  an  honest  and  in¬ 
offensive  mariner,  till  he  had  the  misfortune  to  ship  on  board 
the  ill-fated  schooner  Plattsburg. 


PETER  PETERSON,  alias  MILES  PETERSON, 
othenvise  MILES  PETERSON  FOGELGREN. 

This  unhappy  youth  was  born  at  Gottenburg  in  Sweden, 
in  the  year  seventeen  hundred  and  ninety-nine.  He  was  kept 
at  school  till  the  ninth  year  of  his  life,  when  he  sailed  with  his 
uncle  to  Narva  in  the  Gulf  of  Finland.  After  this  voyage 
he  entered  another  vessel  as  cabin  boy,  but  being  very  ill 
treated  by  the  captain,  left  it  at  Liverpool  and  bound  himself 
apprentice  to  a  merchant,  who  in  six  months  became  a 
bankrupt. 

He  made  two  more  voyages,  previous  to  the  late  war 
between  Great  Britian  and  the  United  States.  When  war 
was  declared  he  shipped  at  Salem,  on  board  the  American 


102 


PETER  PETERSON. 
| 


privateer  Grand  Turk,  and  assisted  in  the  capture  of  two 
letters  of  marque.  The  action  lasted  about  thirty  minutes, 
and  the  Grand  Turk  had  two  killed  and  one  wounded.  After 
having  had  the  prizes  in  tow  two  days,  an  English  ship  approach¬ 
ed  the  privateer,  taking  her  for  a  British  vessel,  but  struck  her 
colors  on  discovering  her  mistake.  The  Grand  Turk  finished 
her  cruise  by  being  chased  into  Portland  by  an  English  frigate. 

Peterson’s  next  voyage  was  to  Antigua.  Returning  from 
that  place  the  vessel’s  provisions  gave  out,  so  that  the  crew 
were  obliged  to  subsist  on  one  repast  of  flour  and  water 
per  diem. 

He  then  shipped  on  board  a  Swedish  vessel,  which  was 
brought  to  by  the  British  line  of  battle  ship  La  Houge  the 
day  after  she  sailed.  Peterson  was  taken  on  board  the 
seventy-four  and  questioned.  He  was  told  that  he  was  a 
British  subject  and  required  to  enlist,  and,  on  his  refusal,  was 
confined  twenty-four  hours  without  drink  or  food.  He  was 
then  again  asked  to  enlist,  and  threatened  with  stripes  for 
refusing.  Finally,  he  was  released,  and  allowed  to  return  to 
Boston,  with  other  prisoners,  in  a  fishing  boat. 

He  next  entered  the  David  Porter,  another  privateer,  which 
after  taking  an  English  ship,  had  a  narrow  escape  from  a 
British  frigate.  Then,  falling  in  with  an  English  ship,  the 
David  Porter  fought  her  half  an  hour,  till  all  the  ammunition 
was  expended,  and  at  last  carried  her  by  boarding. 

Peterson  made  several  more  short  voyages,  without  any 
adventure  worthy  of  note.  Being  on  board  the  schooner 
Chippewa,  at  Saint  Jago,  the  crew  were  ordered  one  Sunday 
to  scrub  the  deck,  by  the  mate.  They  all  refused  and  the 
mate  wrote  to  the  master,  who  was  on  shore  at  the  time,  to 
complain  of  their  disobedience.  The  master  immediately 
came  on  board  attended  by  six  other  masters  of  vessels,  all 
armed  with  cutlasses,  and  the  men  were  all  put  in  irons  and 
not  released  till  the  vessel  sailed.  Arrived  at  Baltimore, 
Peterson  shipped  on  board  the  Plattsburg  for  Naples,  and,  on 
her  return,  entered  the  same  vessel  again  for  Smyrna. 

The  Plattsburg,  it  will  be  remembered,  sailed  from  Balti¬ 
more  on  the  first  of  July  eighteen  hundred  and  sixteen.  The 
following  account  of  the  subsequent  transactions  on  board,  is 
a  synopsis  of  the  stories  of  Onion,  their  second  mate,  and 
others. 

After  the  schooner  had  dropped  down  from  Baltimore  to 
Purchase  Creek,  the  crew  refused  to  raise  the  anchor  unless 
the  captain  would  give  them  their  protections.  They  receiv- 


PETER  PETERSON.  103 

ed  the  protections,  and  the  vessel  sailed.  On  the  fourth  of 
the  month  the  Plattsburg  was  off  Cape  Henry. 

Here  Smith,  being  commanded  by  the  chief  mate  to  sweep 
the  deck,  returned  an  insolent  answer,  and  they  came  to  blows. 
The  mate  was  thrown  down,  and  would  probably  have  fared 
worse,  had  not  Captain  Hackett  come  upon  deck  witr,  &  t\  md- 
spike,  and  threatened  to  strike  any  one  who  should  a  i  iolonce 
to  an  officer. 

After  this  matters  went  on  tranquilly  enough  till  the  twen¬ 
ty-first  of  the  month,  when  the  schooner  was  near  St.  Mary’s. 
This  day  the  crew  were  divided  into  two  watches,  the  first, 
under  the  chief  mate,  being  on  duty  from  eight  in  the  eve¬ 
ning  to  twelve.  The  night  was  very  dark,  with  a  drizzling 
rain,  and  the  Plattsburg  went  through  the  water  at  the  rate 
of  five  or  six  knots  an  hour.  At  twelve  o’clock  Onion  was 
called  on  deck  by  Mr.  Yeizer,  and  as  he  came  up,  heard 
Yftlliams  cry,  “  Sail,  ho !”  Stopping  in  to  the  waist,  Onion  ask¬ 
ed  Francis  Frederick  where  the  sail  was,  and  Frederic  told 
him  to  go  forward  and  he  would  show  him.  Then,  while  Y eizer 
and  Onion  were  looking  over  the  bow  together,  they  were 
both  struck  at  the  same  instant.  Onion  fell  on  deck,  but  in¬ 
stantly  shuffled  to  windward.  Williams  straightway  seized 
him,  and  while  they  were  struggling  Onion  heard  Yeizer  cry 
“murder!”  At  the  same  time,  Williams  cried  for  others  to 
help  him  kill  “  one  of  the  d — d  rascals,”  as  he  called  Onion. 
Seeing  a  man  aiming  a  blow  at  him,  Onion  parried  it  with  his 
arm,  which  was  thereby  so  injured  that  he  could  not  use  it  for 
a  fortnight.  The  stroke  brought  him  to  the  deck. 

At  this  moment  Captain  Hackett  came  on  deck,  and  asked 
what  was  the  matter,  whereupon  those  who  were  about  Onion 
sprang  toward  him.  Passing  a  man  with  an  axe  on  his 
shoulder,  Onion  then  gained  the  cabin  with  all  speed,  and  got 
into  a  locker. 

The  supercargo,  Mr.  Baynard,  had  just  risen,  and  the  black, 
Samberson,  was  lying  in  his  birth.  The  first  thing  Onion 
heard  after  concealing  himself  was  a  voice  summoning  Mr. 
Baynard  on  deck,  where,  it  said,  the  Captain  wanted  him. 
The  next  sound  was  that  of  a  scuffle. 

In  about  ten  minutes  some  of  the  crew  came  below,  and 
Williams  inquired  for  Onion.  Some  one  replied  that  he  was 
overboard,  but  Frederick  denied  this,  and  said  he  was  in  the 
locker.  Being  ordered,  Onion  came  forth,  and  began  to  beg 
for  mercy.  The  men  held  a  consultation  touching  the  pro¬ 
priety  of  throwing  him  overboard.  Peterson  was  on  the  affir- 


104 


PETER  PETERSON. 


mativ'e  side  of  the  question,  but  Frederick  said  that  he  should 
live,  and  take  a  share  of  the  money.  Williams,  too,  said  that 
they  had  shed  blood  enough,  and  that  he  should  be  suffered 
to  live.  They  gave  him  a  glass  of  whiskey  and  made  him 
swear  not  to  inform  against  them,  and  to  take  a  share  of  the 
money  on  board. 

About  four  o’clock  in  the  morning  White  and  Stromer 
came  into  the  cabin.  White  asked  Stromer  whither  he  in¬ 
tended  to  take  the  vessel,  and  Stromer  replied,  to  Norway. 
White  said  it  would  be  better  to  run  for  South  America,  but 
Stromer  persisted  in  his  opinion,  saying  he  knew  the  coast  of 
Norway,  having  traded  there  before.  He  said  he  would  run 
the  schooner  among  the  rocks,  and  smuggle  the  cargo  ashore 
without  being  suspected.  N 

After  this  they  went  on  deck,  and  at  nine  Onion  was  call¬ 
ed.  The  crew  then  brought  the  money  on  deck  and  divide^  it 
into  fourteen  shares,  at  first  measuring  it  in  their  hats,  and 
when  the  quantity  grew  small,  in  a  tin  cup.  Williams  offered 
Onion  a  share,  which  he  declined  accepting,  but  Raineaux 
said  if  he  did  not  take  it  he  should  be  treated  as  the  other 
officers  had  been.  Samberson,  whom  they  had  resolved  to 
spare,  also  took  his  portion,  as  well  as  Mr.  Yeizer’s  trunk 
and  clothes. 

The  Spanish  cook  was  much  affected  by  what  had  taken 
place,  and  lamented.  Peterson  and  Smith  spoke  of  having 
thrown  the  officers  overboard.  They  said  the  mate  had 
caught  by  a  certain  rope,  and  that  they  had  been  obliged  to 
cut  it  off.  The  said  rope  was  bloody,  but  F rederick  explained 
the  circumstance  by  saying  he  had  cut  his  finger.  Rog, 
who  among  the  crew  went  by  the  name  of  the  “  Yankee 
boy,”  danced  upon  the  deck,  exclaiming,  u  You  now  see  what 
a  Yankee  boy  can  do!  ” 

On  the  passage  to  Norway,  Onion  heard  the  pirates  speak 
of  the  transactions  of  the  night  of  the  twenty-first.  Peterson 
said  the  captain  had  caught  him  by  the  jacket,  and  had  nearly 
drawn  him  overboard.  Smith  said  the  captain  had  near¬ 
ly  thrown  him  over  also,  and  had,  in  fact,  got  him  half  over 
the  railing.  Williams  said,  with  an  oath,  that  he  would  never 
sail  from  any  port  for  fourteen  dollars  a  month,  and  that  if  he 
lost  the  money  he  had  now  gained  he  would  get  more  in  the 
same  way.  He  also  said  that  he  had  agreed  with  Frederick, 
and  shaken  hands  upon  it,  at  eight  in  the  evening  before  the 
murders,  to  take  the  vessel  or  jump  overboard.  Frederick  said 


PETER  PETERSON.  105 

the  Plattsburg  was  the  fifth  vessel  he  had  assisted  to  take  in 
the  same  manner. 

On  one  occasion  Williams  said,  that  when  they  were  throw¬ 
ing  Captain  Hackett  overboard,  the  unfortunate  man  cried, 
u  Williams,  don’t  you  know  me?”  and  was  answered,  “Yes, 
d — n  you, — to  my  sorrow Williams  also  said,  that  in  a  former 
quarrel  the  Captain  had  threatened  to  shoot  him,  and  he  ow¬ 
ed  him  a  grudge.  He  added,  that  he  had  been  thrice  sen¬ 
tenced  to  the  gallows;  once  for  killing  a  man  in  South  Amer¬ 
ica,  and  once  for  hanging  a  woman.  His  other  crime  he  did 
not  specify. 

Onion  stated,  that  when  the  vessel  was  off  St.  Mary’s  he 
saw  Williams  drop  something  into  the  fire  which  burned  blue. 
After  the  murder  he  told  Onion  that  he  had  then  intended  to 
destroy  the  officers  by  poisoning  their  coffee.  He  added,  that 
the  crew  had  plotted  to  bind  the  officers  and  put  them  on  shore 
near  St.  Mary’s,  and  that  he  had  gone  with  a  cord  as  far  as 
the  caboose,  for  that  purpose.  But  as  the  others  did  not  fol¬ 
low  him,  his  heart  failed,  and  he  gave  up  his  intention. 

After  the  twenty-first,  Stromer  acted  as  master  and  Wil¬ 
liams  as  chief  mate.  They  told  Onion  that  if  he  chose  he 
might  still  be  second  mate,  and  he  did  accordingly  act  as 
such.  By  their  order  he  altered  the  owner’s  papers,  making 
it  appear  that  the  Plattsburg  was  consigned  to  a  merchant  in 
Hamburg.  Williams  altered  the  log-book,  and  made  the  ves¬ 
sel  bound  for  Bremen;  and  cut  out  all  the  leaves  that  had  been 
written  since  they  passed  Cape  Henry. 

White  assisted  the  others  to  work  the  vessel,  but  in  private 
conversation  with  Onion  he  protested  his  innocence,  and  said 
he  would  never  do  a  murder  for  gain.  He  declared  that  he 
was  afraid  to  resist;  that  at  one  time  he  had  had  an  inclina¬ 
tion  to  inform,  but  did  not  dare  to  do  so. 

At  last  the  vessel  reached  a  port  in  Norway,  called  Cleve¬ 
land,  where  she  remained  four  or  five  days.  The  last  day 
Onion  remained,  he  sent  his  baggage  and  ill  gotten  spoil  on 
board  a  vessel  bound  for  Copenhagen,  by  the  advice  of  Wil¬ 
liams.  Williams  and  Samberson  also  went  with  him  to 
Copenhagen. 

While  the  pirates  were  at  Cleveland,  Onion  was  only  once 
on  shore,  with  Williams,  who  watched  him  closely.  At  Copen¬ 
hagen  the  case  was  different.  Onion  put  up  at  the  same  house 
with  Williams,  and  having  the  chief  mate’s  papers  in  his 
possession,  passed  by  the  name  of  Yeizer.  It  seems  that 
Williams  and  the  second  mate  became  intimate,  for  they 


106 


PETER  PETERSON. 


bought  goods  in  company,  intending  to  trade  to  South  America. 
To  th  s  end  they  went  to  the  American  consul  to  procure 
passports,  and  not  giving  a  clear  account  of  themselves,  were 
arrested. 

This  was  the  substance  of  Onion’s  story:  in  telling  it,  he 
admitted  that  he  had  participated  in  the  proceedings  of  the 
crew,  from  the  time  the  officers  were  murdered.  He  excused 
this  conduct,  by  saying  that  he  was  moved  thereto  by  fear  of 
losing  his  own  life.  He  also  acknowledged,  that  from  the  time 
the  Plattsburg  made  the  coast  of  Norway  till  the  hour  of  his 
arrest,  he  was  constantly  intoxicated.  When  the  reader  shaK 
have  seen  how  far  his  testimony  agreed  with  that  of  the  black, 
Samberson,  (whose  character  was  unimpeached)  he  will  be 
better  able  to  judge  what  credit  should  be  given  to  such  a 
person. 

According  to  Samberson,  after  the  quarrel  above  mentioned 
between  Smith  and  the  chief  mate,  the  crew  plotted  to  take 
the  vessel.  White  was  privy  to  the  design,  but  made  no 
disclosure  to  the  officers.  On  the  night  of  the  murders, 
Samberson  heard  Williams  calling  to  some  person  to  come  on 
deck,  and  going  to  the  companion  way,  saw  the  crew  standing 
round  the  top  of  it.  Smith  at  the  same  time  calling  him  by 
an  abusive  name,  bade  him  come  on  deck,  for  u  He  had  made 
his  fortune  without  knowing  it.” 

The  negro  went  up  some  steps,  when  he  was  seized  and 
drawn  on  deck  by  force.  He  was  then  commanded  to  go 
forward,  and  went  as  far  as  the  mainmast,  where  he  heard  the 
pirates  calling  Mr.  Baynard  on  deck,  and  promising  not  to 
hurt  him. 

Samberson  returned  aft,  and  saw  Mr.  Baynard  lying  on  his 
back  under  the  main  boom  on  the  starboard  side.  Williams  and 
Rog  then  seized  the  unhappy  gentleman  and  threw  him  over¬ 
board.  Samberson  heard  him  scream  for  aid,  in  the  water. 

The  black  next  went  forward,  and  found  the  cook  weeping. 
He  asked  what  was  the  matter,  and  the  cook  said  he  did  not 
know.  Williams  seemed  to  have  assumed  the  command,  and 
told  the  negro  that  he  should  die  if  he  did  not  assist  to  wprk 
the  schooner.  At  last  Samberson  received  permission  to 
go  below. 

He  found  Frederick  in  the  cabin  with  a  cocked  musket  in 
his  hand,  looking  for  Onion,  and  soon  after  heard  some  one 
on  deck  propose  to  hunt  the  second  mate  out.  White, 
Peterson,  Raineaux,  Johnson  and  Smith  came  down,  and 
made  Oni  on  come  out  of  the  locker.  After  the  consultation 


PETER  PETERSON 


107 


before  mentioned,  touching  Onion’s  life  he  thanked  Frederick 
for  preserving  him.  The  pirates  then  gave  the  black  and 
the  second  mate  drink,  and  told  them  they  might  continue  to 
act  in  their  former  capacities. 

Two  days  after  the  murders,  Rog  capered  upon  the  deck, 
declaring  that  he  “  struck  the  son  of  a  bitch  (meaning  Mr. 
Baynard)  with  a  stone  in  a  stocking.” 

The  other  particulars  related  by  Onion  were  confirmed  by 
Samberson,  excepting  these:  Onion,  when  he  received  his 
share  of  the  money,  did  not  decline  it,  or  say  that  he  was 
satisfied  with  his  bare  life.  On  the  contrary,  he  said  it  was 
a  handsome  sum,  and  that  he  had  not  had  so  much  before  for 
a  long  time. 

Before  the  vessel  reached  Norway,  Samberson  once  heard 
Stromer^say  that  he  had  given  Williams  poison  to  put  in  the 
officer’s  coffee.  Williams,  who  was  present,  said  he  did 
put  it  in,  but  that  it  was  not  strong  enough.  In  fact,  the 
officers  had  complained  of  the  coffee,  and  taken  physic  after 
drinking  it;  but  their  suspicions  fell  on  Samberson. 

When  the  vessel  made  the  coast  of  Norway,  the  pirates 
took  two  fishermen  on  board  as  pilots,  and  Stromer  desired 
them  to  take  her  into  some  port  where  there  was  no  consul. 
The  fishermen  said  they  would  take  her  to  MandahL  The 
custom  house  officers  came  off,  and  put  a  quarantine  flag  on 
board.  Samberson  went  to  the  consul’s  house  to  inform  that 
officer  what  had  happened,  but  finding  some  of  the  crew  there, 
was  affair  to  do  so.  It  appears  that  Samberson  mistook  the 
name  of  tne  place  where  the  Plattsburg  was  deserted,  as  he 
calls  it  Mandahl;  whereas  all  others  concerned  call  it  Cleve¬ 
land,  and  say  that  it  was  near  Mandahl. 

On  their  arrival  at  Copenhagen,  Samberson  went  to  the  same 
boarding  house  with  Williams  and  Onion,  but  was  not  suffered 
by  them  to  stay  there;  a  black,  it  seems,  was  not  fit  company 
for  such  worthy  persons. 

Soon  after,  Samberson  saw  Rog  in  the  street,  but  the  latter 
did  not  speak  to  him.  He  held  down  his  head,  in  the  manner 
of  a  person  ashamed,  and  passed  on. 

A  fortnight  from  his  arrival  in  Copenhagen,  Samberson 
was  summoned  before  the  commissary  of  police  and  examined. 
He  then  disclosed  all  the  transactions  on  board  the  Plattsburg, 
and  Williams,  Onion,  and  Rog  were  apprehended.  It  seems 
the  commissary  of  police  had  heard  that  an  American  vessel 
had  been  deserted  by  her  crew  at  a  port  in  Norway. 

In  all  his  story  there  is  but  one  circumstance  which,  in 


108 


PETER  PETERSON. 


our  opinion,  ought  to  create  a  doubt  of  Samberson’s  truth. 
He  was  anxious  at  Cleveland,  to  have  informed  against  the 
pi  ates,  but  at  Copenhagen  neglected  to  do  so.  He  said,  in 
explanation  of  this,  that  at  Cleveland  all  the  crew  might 
have  been  arrested  at  once,  but  at  Copenhagen  they  were 
scattered  about;  and  he  did  not  care  to  inform  against  them 
there,  because  Williams  and  Onion  had  sworn  to  kill  who¬ 
soever  should  open  his  lips,  about  the  matter. 

After  their  apprehension,  Onion  and  Samberson  were  con¬ 
fined  separately,  for  two  months.  Then  being  put  into  the 
same  room,  they  fought,  and  were  again  separated.  However, 
they  could  converse  from  the  windows  of  their  respective 
cells. 

When  the  Plattsburg  arrived  at  Cleveland,  Francis  Frederick 
carried  his  effects  to  the  house  of  the  pilot  who  had  brought 
the  vessel  in.  He  then  took  passage  for  Aberdeen,  in  Scot¬ 
land,  and  thence  to  Fort  William.  After  this,  he  returned  to 
Norway,  and  went  to  Mandahl,  where  he  was  apprehended 
by  the  police.  He  was  put  in  irons,  and  the  next  day  carried 
to  Christiansand  and  put  in  prison.  Five  days  after  he  was 
examined,  but  pretended  to  understand  nothing.  He  however 
confessed  to  divers  persons  how  and  where  he  had  disposed 
of  certain  portions  of  his  plunder,  and  was  then  sent  back  to 
prison  and  stripped.  Thence  he  was  sent  to  Copenhagen  in 
irons,  and  was  fourteen  days  on  the  passage.  All  this  time 
he  was  chained  to  an  anchor,  without  a  covering,  so  that  his 
feet  were  frozen. 

Peterson,  after  landing  at  Cleveland,  went  to  his  father’s 
house  in  Gottenburg,  and  there  remained  till  he  was  seized 
by  the  American  consul.  When  asked  how  he  got  his  money, 
he  said  he  had  it  from  Stromer  and  Williams,  but  denied  all 
knowledge  of  the  murders.  The  next  day  he  was  accom¬ 
modated  with  a  suit  of  fetters,  weighing  an  hundred  and  thirty 
five  pounds,  was  thrown  into  a  dungeon,  and  kept  therein 
thirty-six  days,  on  bread  and  water.  Then  falling  sick,  his 
fetters  were  taken  off.  His  malady  continued  three  months, 
and  was  such  that  the  physicians  gave  him  over;  yet  he  re¬ 
covered,  and  was  carried  before  a  court  for  trial. 

Nothing  appearing  against  him,  he  was  acquitted,  yet  he 
was  detained  in  irons  till  the  king’s  pleasure  should  be  known. 
He  was  then  sent  to  Copenhagen.  What  became  of  the  rest 
of  the  crew  of  the  Plattsburg  is  not  known. 

The  owner  of  the  Plattsburg,  after  her  departure  from 
Baltimore,  heard  no  more  of  her  till  he  received  a  letter  from 


IETER  PETERSON. 


109 


the  American  consul  at  Christiansand.  He  then  sent  a  Mr. 
De  La  Roche  in  quest  of  her.  This  gentleman  found  the 
vessel  in  good  order  at  Christiansand. 

The  crimes  perpetrated  on  board  the  Plattsburg  became  the 
subject  of  a  memorial  addressed  by  her  owner  to  the  president 
of  the  United  States,  and  the  case  was  deemed  sufficiently 
important  by  that  functionary,  to  be  made  a  national  concern. 
Accordingly,  the  sloop  of  war  Hornet  was  despatched  to 
Copenhagen  to  bring  the  criminals  to  America. 

John  Williams,  John  P.  Rog,  Francis  Frederick,  Miles 
Peterson  and  Nathaniel  White,  were  arraigned  before  the 
Circuit  Court  of  the  United  States,  held  in  Boston  on  the 
fourteenth  day  of  February  eighteen  hundred  and  eighteen, 
for  the  murder  of  Thomas  Baynard.  They  severally  pleaded 
not  guilty, to  the  indictment. 

The  only  witnesses  with  regard  to  the  actual  fact  imputed, 
were  Onion  and  Samberson,  the  substance  of  whose  evidence 
has  been  given  already.  They  were  found  guilty  one  and  all, 
and  sentenced  to  be  hanged. 

It  seems  to  us  that  Onion,  instead  of  being  an  accomplice 
in  the  murders  committed  on  board  the  Plattsburg,  was  marked 
out  for  one  of  the  victims.  The  part  he  took  in  the  piracy 
was  such  as  any  innocent  man  might  have  taken,  under  the 
fear  of  immediate  death,  and  would  not  at  all  diminish  his 
credibility,  had  he  given  information  against  the  criminals  on 
the  first  opportunity.  When  he  was  at  Copenhagen  with 
Williams  and  Rog,  in  the  midst  of  a  large  population,  he  had 
nothing  to  fear  from  them;  on  the  contrary  they  were  in  his 
power.  As  he  was  liable  to  answer  to  a  charge  of  piracv,  it 
might  be  supposed  that  he  would  have  hastened  to  clear  him¬ 
self  from  the  imputation,  by  giving  up  the  offenders  to  justice. 
He  did  not  do  so,  but  was  content  to  use  his  share  of  the 
plunder  in  a  mercantile  partnership  with  Williams;  whence 
we  infer,  that  he  was  corrupted  by  the  sudden  acquisition  of 
wealth.  Therefore,  we  should  give  credit  to  his  testimony 
as  far  as  it  was  corroborated  by  that  of  Samberson,  but  no 
farther.  After  his  condemnation,  Williams  gave  this  ac¬ 
count  of  the  affair. 

When  the  vessel  left  Cape  Henry,  Mr.  Yeizer  informed  the 
crew,  that  if  they  behaved  well  they  should  be  well  treated, 
but  if  he  heard  any  grumbling  he  would  tie  up  the  first  man 
and  flog  him  severely.  To  this  Williams  replied,  that  he  had 
never  heard  such  language  from  any  officer  of  any  vessel 
before,  and  that  it  would  not  be  good  for  the  health  of  any 


110 


PETER  PETERSON. 


officer  to  flog  him.  The  chief  mate  told  him  to  go  forward 
or  he  would  begin  then,  and  Williams  answered  that  he  might 
begin  as  soon  as  he  pleased. 

On  the  seventh  of  the  month  Williams  heard  the  crew  talk¬ 
ing  about  throwing  the  officers  overboard,  and  then,  walking 
the  deck  with  .Daniel  Went,  advised  that  person  to  refuse  to 
engage  in  the  plot,  saying  that  he  would  have  nothing  to  do 
with  it  himself.  He  said,  beside,  that  he  had  a  mind  to  inform 
the  captain  of  the  conspiracy,  but  Went  advised  him  not  to 
think  of  it,  as  the  crew  would  not  scruple  to  kill  him  if  they 
knew  him  to  be  the  informer. 

That  very  evening,  Stromer  and  Stacy  told  him  they  were 
resolved  to  bear  ill  usage  no  longer,  and  asked  him  to  assist 
them  to  take  the  vessel  from  the  officers.  They  called  the 
officers  a  set  of  rascals,  and  added  that  they  would  throw 
them  into  the  sea.  Williams  replied  that  he  would  never  kill 
a  man  in  cold  blood,  upon  which  Stromer  called  him  a  cow¬ 
ard.  Williams  rejoined  that  he  was  no  coward,  but  as  good 
a  man  as  any  in  the  vessel. 

The  next  day  Stromer,  Stacy,  and  Smith  told  Williams  they 
intended  to  seize  the  officers  while  they  would  be  taking  an 
observation,  bind  them,  and  set  them  adrift  in  a  boat  with 
provisions  and  water,  near  the  Cape  de  Yerd  islands.  They 
then  meant  to  steer  for  Norway.  Stromer  produced  maps, 
books,  instruments,  and  papers  to  prove  that  he  had  command¬ 
ed  vessels  during  a  period  of  nine  years.  Being  in  drink 
and  angry  at  the  usage  he  had  received,  Williams  agreed  to 
assist,  and  in  pursuance  of  the  design,  was  about  to  lay  hands 
on  the  captain,  when,  looking  behind  him,  he  perceived  that 
the  others  hung  back.  He  then  upbraided  Stromer  with 
cowardice  and  threatened  to  beat  him. 

On  the  fifteenth,  Stromer  told  Williams  he  was  determined 
to  take  the  vessel  that  night,  and  put  the  officers  on  shore  at 
St.  Mary’s.  Williams  was  angry  at  this,  shook  his  fist  at 
Stromer,  and  threatened  to  chastise  him  if  he  said  another 
word  on  the  subject,  or  that  he  would  inform  the  captain. 

On  the  twenty-second,  all  the  crew  except  the  cook  and 
Samberson  agreed  to  take  the  vessel  and  kill  the  officers. 
White,  indeed,  did  not  agree  to  take  part  with  them,  but  said  he 
would  keep  the  secret  and  help  to  work  the  vessel.  It  was 
agreed  that  some  one  on  the  bow  should  cry  “  A  sail!”  and 
Williams  was  to  stand  by  the  foremast  and  repeat  the  call.  By 
this  the  officers  were  to  be  enticed  forward.  Rog  was  to 
attack  the  chief  mate,  and  if  he  came  by  the  worse,  Frederick 


PETER  PETERSON.  v  111 

was  to  knock  Rog  down.  This  was  because  they  did  not 
place  much  confidence  in  the  Dane. 

At  the  appointed  time  Peterson  gave  the  signal,  and  Wil¬ 
liams  repeated  it.  Both  the  mates  went  forward.  Mr.  Yeizer 
was  thrown  overboard  by  Frederick  and  Rog,  and  as  he  caught 
by  a  rope,  it  was  cut  by  Stromer.  Onion  was  struck  down 
with  an  axe  as  before  related,  and  Williams  laid  hands  on 
him. 

Seeing  the  Captain  come  on  deck,  Williams  left  Onion  and 
struck  him  on  the  breast.  Mr.  Hackett  asked  what  was  the 
matter,  when  Smith  struck  him  with  a  handspike.  He  fell 
across  the  railing,  and  Smith  and  Johnson  immediately  threw 
him  over.  Williams  said,  farther,  that  had  he  not  lost  the  axe- 
helve  it  was  his  intention  to  have  beaten  the  Captain  with  it. 

He  could  not  say  who  killed  Mr.  Baynard,  but  was  sure  that 
Stromer  had  a  stocking  with  a  stone  in  it  for  a  weapon.  This, 
and  handspikes,. were  the  only  weapons  used.  All  the  crew 
were  sober,  and  Frederick  was  the  most  violent  among  them. 
He  said  that  he  could  not  sleep  that  night  for  thinking  of  the 
money,  and  seemed  to  view  the  slaughter  of  a  hun  an  being 
as  a  very  trivial  matter.  When  Onion  was  found,  his  life  was 
spared  by  Stromer,  at  the  intercession  of  Williams.  He  had 
taken  a  bottle  of  whiskey  with  him  into  the  locker  where  he 
was  concealed.  As  he  was  intoxicated,  Williams  told  him  to 
go  below  and  sleep,  promising  to  call  him  when  he  should  be 
wanted. 

In  the  morning,  Stromer,  Williams  and  Onion  breakfasted 
together,  and  Samberson  waited  on  them.  Onion  asked  if 
Stromer  knew  how  much  money  was  on  board,  and  being  an¬ 
swered  in  the  negative,  said  he  did.  He  moreover  asked 
Stromer  why  he  did  not  let  him  know  his  intention  to  capture 
the  schooner,  saying  that  he  would  have  assisted  with  all 
his  heart.  He  added,  that  the  Captain  and  first  mate  had 
used  him  ill,  and  were  rightly  served,  and  proposed,  if  he  might 
have  some  hands  to  assist  him,  to  get  up  the  money.  Onion 
did  accordingly  get  the  money  and  broke  open  the  boxes  with 
an  axe. 

At  dinner,  Stromer  said  that  he  had  brought  some  poison 
for  the  officers,  from  Baltimore,  and  had  put  some  into  their 
coffee,  but  it  had  had  no  effect.  He  asked  Williams  if  he  had 
been  acquainted  with  Captain  Hackett  before,  who  replied, 
“  Yes,  to  my  sorrow.” 

It  was  then  agreed  that  the  log-book  should  be  altered,  and 
Onion  instructed  Williams  how  to  do  it.  Stromer  took  the 


112 


PETER  PETERSON. 


name  of  Hackett,  and  Williams  that  of  Yeizer,  but  after  eight 
days  Williams  resumed  his  own,  and  Onion  took  the  chief 
mate’s  papers  and  name.  The  vessel’s  papers  were  then 
altered. 

On  their  arrival  in  Norway  the  men  went  on  shore  as  they 
pleased,  but  Williams  remained  on  board.  He  received  a 
letter  from  Stromer,  informing  him  that  Gascar,  the  American 
consul,  had  agreed  to  take  the  whole  of  the  coffee,  which  was 
to  be  smuggled  on  shore.  Accordingly  they  made  the  cus¬ 
tom  house  officer  drunk,  and  got  out  fifty-six  bags,  Onion 
assisting.  The  next  day  a  vessel  came  along  side,  with  a 
letter  from  Stromer,  and  took  three  hundred  bags  more. 
Thus  matters  went  on  till  the  twenty-third  of  August,  when 
a  police  officer  came  on  board,  took  possession,  and  warped 
the  vessel  to  Mandahl.  Fearing  detection,  Williams  and  On- 
nion  took  passage  for  Copenhagen  as  before  related.  Such 
was  the  story  of  Williams.  That  of  Frederick  was  as  fol¬ 
lows: 

He  agreed  with  Onion  as  far  as  relates  to  the  quarrel  be¬ 
tween  Ye’zer  and  Smith,  but  solemnly  declared  himself  igno¬ 
rant  of  any  preconcerted  plan  to  commit  piracy  or  murder, 
and  guiltless  of  the  blood  of  all  and  each  of  the  officers. 
He  acknowledged,  however,  that  he  had  often  seen  Stromer, 
Williams  and  others  in  close  conversation,  which  they  always 
discontinued  when  he  approached. 

As  to  the  proceedings  of  the  fatal  night,  he  said,  that  being 
relieved  from  his  watch,  he  had  just  gone  below  with  White, 
when  he  heard  a  noise  on  deck,  and  the  voice  of  Yeizer,  cry¬ 
ing  “  Murder.”  He  ran  on  deck  with  White,  and  received 
a  blow  on  his  hand  that  drew  blood.  He  then  saw  Mr.  Yei¬ 
zer  thrown  overboard  by  Smith  and  others,  whose  persons  he 
could  not  positively  distinguish.  Captain  Hackett  then  came 
on  deck,  and  was  immediately  thrown  into  the  sea  by  Williams, 
Stromer,  and  Raineaux.  The  supercargo  next  came  up,  and 
was  likewise  thrown  over.  He  heard  both  the  captain  and 
mate  cry  murder,  in  the  water. 

He  then  ran  into  the  cabin  and  took  up  a  musket  to  defend 
himself.  Williams  and  Stromer  entered,  and  asked  what  he 
meant  to  do  with  the  gun.  He  said  he  did  not  know.  They 
then  asked  for  Onion,  and  he  said  he  thought  he  was  in  the 
locker.  Onion  was  called  out,  and  he,  Frederick,  observed 
that  he  was  a  very  good  man,  though  tipsy.  At  eight  o’  clock 
in  the  morning  Onion  got  up  the  money,  broke  the  boxes, 
and  it  was  divided.  Frederick  received  his  share. 


PETER  PETERSON. 


113 


Arriving  on  the  coast  of  Norway,  Rog  advised  to  make  the 
vessel  appear  as  if  in  distress.  Accordingly  the  main  boom 
was  carried  away,  and  the  topmast  studding-sail  halliards  were 
brought  on  deck. 

Rog’s  story  agreed  with  that  of  Williams  up  to  the  time  of 
the  piracy.  He  said  that  though  he  heard  a  noise  on  deck, 
he  remained  below  till  four  in  the  morning.  Then,  going  on 
deck,  he  was  told  by  Stromer  that  he,  Stromer,  was  captain. 
Stromer  asked,  too,  if  he  would  continue  to  do  his  duty  as 
before,  and  respect  him  as  master,  Williams  as  first,  and  On¬ 
ion  as  second  mate.  He  assented,  and  asked  where  Captain 
Hackett  was,  and  was  answered  that  it  was  none  of  his  busi¬ 
ness.  He  agreed  with  Williams  respecting  the  conduct  of 
Onion. 

The  other  parts  of  his  story  agreed  with  the  others  in  all 
points,  excepting  that  he  added,  that  when  he  and  Peterson 
were  ordered  by  Onion  to  assist  in  getting  coffee  out  of  the 
vessel,  they  refused  to  obey. 

Peterson  stated,  that  the  day  before  the  piracy  he  saw  Stro¬ 
mer  and  Stacy  in  conversation,  and  heard  them  say  the 
crew  were  a  cowardly  set.  He  also  saw  them  throw  three 
handspikes  into  the  forecastle,  for  what  purpose  he  knew  not. 
At  midnight,  Stromer  and  Williams  called  him  from  the  fore¬ 
castle,  threatening  to  kill  him  if  he  did  not  come  on  deck. 
They  said,  too,  that  all  the  rest  of  the  crew  had  agreed  to 
come.  Fifteen  minutes  after,  Williams  cried  “  A  sail,”  and 
Mr.  Yeizer  ran  forward  to  ask  where.  Stromer  and  Williams 
cried  u  Strike,”  and  Johnson  and  Raineaux  instantly  threw 
him  overboard.  He  caught  the  jib  boom  guy,  exclaiming 
“  Lord  have  mercy  and  save  me!”  “  Yes,  you  rascal,  I  will,” 
said  Frederick,  and  cut  the  guy.  At  the  next  moment  Captain 
Hackett  came  forward,  and  Williams  and  Smith  treated  him 
as  the  mate  had  been  treated.  After  this,  Stromer  asked  him 
if  he  would  do  his  duty,  and  he  assented. 

The  rest  of  Peterson’s  tale  was  in  substance  the  same  as 
that  of  Williams. 

It  is  a  very  common  opinion  that  no  man  ever  persists  in  a 
falsehood  to  his  last  hour.  How  false  this  idea  is  may  be  seen 
in  this  case.  Not  one  of  these  villains  agreed  with  another, 
or  with  the  witnesses,  yet  each  persisted  in  his  story  to  the 
moment  the  halter  was  adjusted  to  his  neck. 

The  convicts  were  visited  in  prison  by  Bishop  Cheverus  and 
others  of  the  Catholic  clergy.  They  all  expressed  contrition 
for  their  offences.  Rog  and  Peterson  embraced  the  Catholic 
faith.  ■* 


114 


MICHAEL  MARTIN. 


When  they  were  thrown  from  the  gallows  Peterson’s  halter 
broke  and  he  came  to  the  earth,  but  was  immediately  led  up 
the  ladder  again.  Many  pitied  his  case,  thinking  his  youth 
a.Dd  inexperience  ought  to  have  saved  his  life,  or  at  least 
pr  ycured  a  mitigation  of  his  punishment. 


MICHAEL  MARTIN. 

The  adventures  of  this  reprobate  alone  would  suffice  to  fill 
a  considerable  volume,  if  detailed  at  length;  wherefore  we 
shall  only  give  an  abridgment  of  his  history.  His  exploits 
have  an  interest  which  is  rarely  found  in  the  deeds  of  male¬ 
factors.  Stories  less  remarkable  than  his  have  been  wrought 
into  romances.  But  the  plan  of  our  work  does  not  suffer  us 
to  indulge  in  general  reflections. 

Michael  Martin  was  born  near  Kilkenny  in  Ireland,  and 
was  the  cadet  of  his  father’s  family.  His  father,  a  Roman 
Catholic  farmer,  took  particular  pains  to  instruct  his  children 
in  the  precepts  of  Christianity.  Unhappily,  in  the  case  of 
his  youngest  son,  the  seed  was  sowed  in  an  ungrateful  soil. 

*  Our  hero  was  remarkable  at  school  for  his  inattention  to 
study.  At  the  age  of  fourteen  he  was  bound  apprentice  to  his 
uncle,  a  brewer,  and  might  have  become  a  respectable  man, 
had  not  his  vicious  propensities  completely  gained  the  mastery 
over  him.  Being  chastised  for  some  offence,  he  deserted  and 
returned  to  his  father’s  house.  As  neither  threats  nor 
persuasion  could  induce  him  to  return,  his  parent  consented 
that  he  should  stay  at  home,  on  condition  that  he  would  go  to 
school  and  behave  well.  Michael  promised;  but  with  him, 
promises  were  like  pie  crust, — made  to  be  broken.  At  the 
age  of  sixteen  he  joined  the  association  of  United  Irishmen, 
but  kept  what  he  had  done  a  secret  from  his  family. 

Nevertheless,  his  father  suspected  him;  and  to  prevent  his 
frequenting  such  company,  used  at  night  to  lock  him  up  in 
his  chamber.  The  precaution  was  vain;  a  rope  sufficed  to 
make  it  so,  and  Michael  nightly  galloped  one  of  his  father’s 
horses  to  some  meeting  of  the  Ribbon  Men,  where  the  time 
was  spent  in  discussing  the  grievances  of  the  land.  Nor  was 
this  the  worst:  at  such  meetings  the  United  Irishmen  were 
drilled  to  the  use  of  pike  and  musket,  and  when  the  better 


MICHAEL  MARTIN. 


115 


sort  were  gone,  the  rest  caroused  till  morning.  The  perpe¬ 
tration  of  crime  was  foreign  to  the  purposes  of  the  association, 
but  many  of  the  brotherhood  were  men  of  desperate  fortunes, 
and  their  intercourse  engendered  robbery  and  other  malefac¬ 
tions.  In  such  company,  Michael  Martin’s  vicious  propensi¬ 
ties  gathered  strength. 

About  six  months  after  he  joined  the  society  his  father 
discovered  the  connexion  and  chastised  him  very  severely. 
For  this  he  resolved  to  fly  from  the  paternal  roof,  never  to 
return.  That  he  might  not  depart  unavenged  or  ill  provided, 
he  used  a  pick-lock,  which  had  been  made  for  him  by  a  disn  nest 
smith,  to  open  a  trunk  wherein  his  father  kept  his  money 
He  had  taken  small  sums  therefrom  before,  without  discovery; 
now,  he  only  purloined  five  guineas,  fearing  to  be  pursued  if 
he  took  more.  With  this  sum  he  found  his  way  to  Dublin, 
where  he  called  upon  a  Mr.  O’Hanlan,  his  maternal  uncle. 
He  said  to  this  person,  that  having  been  cruelly  beaten  by  his 
father,  he  had  come  abroad  to  seek  his  fortune,  and  would 
gladly  undertake  any  honest  employment.  Mr.  O’Hanlan 
knew  his  character,  and  refused  to  believe  his  story.  He  said 
he  doubted  not  that  our  hero  had  been  very  properly  treated, 
and  commanded  him  to  begone.  Michael  did  not  obey  with¬ 
out  bestowing  many  abusive  epithets  on  his  uncle. 

He  had  the  good  fortune,  a  few  days  after,  to  meet  a  cousin 
who  held  the  respectable  station  of  chief  clerk  and  cashier  to 
an  extensive  brewery  and  distillery.  This  man  at  first  gave 
him  no  better  reception  than  his  uncle  had  done,  and  urged 
him  to  return  to  his  father.  Some  days  elapsed,  and  Martin 
again  meeting  his  cousin,  professed  repentance  and  promised 
reformation.  On  this  the  clerk  consented  to  receive  him  into 
the  brewery,  in  order  that  he  might  learn  the  trade. 

The  first  day,  he  was  bidden  to  pump  a  quantity  of  spirits 
from  one  vat  into  another.  Instead  of  obeying  his  orders  he 
pumped  the  liquor  into  the  cellar,  in  such  wise  that  a  great 
deal  was  lost,  and  the  building  had  well  nigh  been  burned,  for 
the  whiskey  flowed  round  the  furnaces.  Howbeit,  his  cousin 
was  so  thoroughly  convinced  the  mischief  was  accidental,  that 
he  made  good  the  loss  from  his  own  purse  rather  than  our  hero 
should  be  discharged. 

This  kindness  made  some  impression  on  the  vicious  youth, 
and  for  a  year  he  was  honest  and  industrious.  Bat  after  this 
he  became  intimate  with  a  gang  of  dissolute  fellows,  and  spent 
his  leisure  hours  with  them,  in  the  company  of  bad  women  and 
villains  of  a,l  descriptions. 

6 


116 


MICHAEL  MARTIN. 


Before  his  vicious  courses  were  discovered  he  gained  fast 
on  the  confidence  of  his  kind  cousin,  who  employed  him  to 
make  fires  in  the  room  where  the  money  belonging  to  the 
establishment  was  kept,  in  preference  to  any  of  the  other 
workmen.  The  trust  was  ill  requited,  and  Michael  was  unable 
to  withstand  the  temptation.  At  first  he  only  abstracted  a  few 
shillings  at  a  time,  but  finding  they  were  not  missed  he  ad¬ 
ventured  more  boldly,  and  took  away  twenty-four  guineas  at 
’  once.  When  this  sum  was  gone  he  stole  thirty  guineas,  which 
was  immediately  missed  by  his  cousin. 

The  clerk  offered  Michael  four  guineas  if  he  would  restore 
the  rest,  but  instead  of  complying  the  thief  affected  huge 
indignation  at  the  charge.  His  cousin  then  sent  for  an  officer 
to  arrest  him,  but  Martin  put  on  such  an  appearance  of  inno¬ 
cence  that  he  was  finally  ordered  to  return  to  his  work,  and 
no  more  was  said  of  the  matter. 

Nevertheless,  the  suspicions  of  his  cousin  were  not  entirely 
effaced,  for  he  did  not  treat  Martin  so  kindly  as  before,  nor 
suffer  him  to  have  access  to  his  apartments.  Michael  behaved 
with  the  utmost  propriety  for  two  whole  months  after,  because 
he  feared  the  clerk  had  set  spies  to  watch  his  motions. 

At  this  time  love  stepped  in  to  break  the  monotony  of 
Martin’s  life,  and  he  engaged  himself  to  three  girls  at  once, 
without  the  least  intention  to  fulfil  his  promises  to  either. 
One  of  them  was  a  servant  of  the  Mayor  of  the  city.  This 
girl  discovered  his  treachery  and  laid  a  plan  of  revenge. 

She  sent  a  letter  inviting  him  to  visit  her  at  midnight,  at  her 
window,  from  which  a  rope  was  to  depend,  fastened  to  a  bell 
within.  He  was  to  pull  this  rope  to  apprize  her  of  his  coming. 
In  fact,  the  line  was  tied  to  the  covering  of  the  Mayor’s  bed. 
When  Martin  pulled,  he  drew  a  parcel  of  bed-clothes  out  of 
the  window,  to  his  infinite  astonishment.  While  he  was  pon¬ 
dering,  the  Mayor  put  his  head  out  of  the  casement  and  cried 
u  Thieves!”  Martin  ran  to  the  brewery,  pursued  by  the 
Mayor’s  servants,  one  of  whom  fired  a  gun  at  him  while  he 
was  climbing  into  a  window.  The  ball  struck  close  to  him, 
but  he  got  in  and  went  to  bed.  The  next  day  the  posse  conii - 
tatus  arrived,  and  an  examination  of  the  workmen  took  place. 
Martin  put  on  a  grave  face,  and  escaped  all  suspicion. 

Martin  resolved  to  be  revenged.on  his  inamorata  for  this 
stratagem.  Accordingly,  when,  that  very  afternoon,  he  met 
her  in  the  street,  he  treated  her  affectionately,  and  said  he  had 
mistaken  the  place  where  he  should  have  gone.  In  about  a 
week  he  invited  her  to  a  dance,  but  she  said  she  could  not 


MICHAEL  MARTIN. 


117 


leave  the  house,  unless  secretly,  after  the  family  should  have 
retired  to  rest.  Martin  offered  to  come  to  the  garden  for  her 
with  a  ladder,  by  the  aid  of  which  she  might  surmount  the  wall. 
She  consented,  and  at  the  appointed  time  appeared,  dressed 
in  all  her  finery.  On  inquiring  for  the  ladder,  Martin  said  he 
had  been  unable  to  get  one,  but  proposed  that  she  should  escape 
through  the  brewery  ware-house,  which  adjoined  the  garden. 
To  this  end  he  offered  to  climb  first  to  a  window  himself,  and 
then  draw  her  up  after  him  with  a  rope.  With  much  entreaty 
she  suffered  herself  to  be  pursuaded,  and  Martin  immediately 
put  his  plan  in  execution.  He  entered,  lowered  the  rope,  and 
she  tied  it  under  her  arms.  When  he  had  raised  her  half  way 
from  the  ground,  he  made  it  fast  and  went  off  to  the  ball,  where 
he  danced  all  night  with  one  of  her  rivals. 

The  girl  was  found  next  morning  hanging,  insensible,  where 
he  had  left  her.  An  inquiry  was  set  on  foot  for  the  perpetrator 
of  this  brutality,  and  Martin,  finding  that  the  business  was 
likely  to  be  serious,  left  the  city,  though  he  had  not  a  shilling 
in  his  pocket,  and  repaired  to  his  father’s  house.  His  parent 
received  him,  after  his  absence  of  two  years,  with  great  joy. 
Martin  answered  all  inquiries  by  saying  that  he  was  come 
merely  on  a  short  visit,  and  meant  to  return  to  Dublin.  For 
several  weeks  he  so  comported  himself  that  his  friends  believed 
him  really  reformed.  He  was  induced  to  remain  at  home 
longer  than  he  intended,  by  the  hope  of  inheriting  a  part  of 
the  property  of  a  rich  and  infirm  uncle.  However,  his  relative 
died  and  left  all  his  substance  to  our  hero’s  brethren.  Michael 
was  so  enraged  at  this,  that  he  refused  to  attend  the  funeral, 
and  left  his  father’s  house  to  pass  the  time  in  his  old  places 
of  resort,  where  he  staid  till  his  credit  was  exhausted. 

His  father  endea^bured  to  induce  him  to  return,  but  his 
entreaties  was  repaid  with  insult.  His  brother  succeeded 
better — by  promising  to  pay  all  his  tavern  bills,  he  brought 
Martin  back.  He  was  kindly  received,  and  made  many  prom¬ 
ises  of  amendment,  which  he  kept — three  weeks.  He  then 
visited  a  company  of  profligate  persons,  the  relation  of  whose 
desperate  violations  of  the  laws,  inspired  him  with  an  ambition 
to  equal,  or  perhaps  excel  them  in  dexterity  and  villainv* 
Before  long,  his  friends  were  convinced  that  if  he  could  ho 
would  not  become  an  honest  man. 

His  father  was  now  so  well  aware  of  his  depravity,  that  he 
dared  not  keep  his  money  at  home;  but  the  dutiful  son  indem¬ 
nified  himself  for  the  want  of  opportunity  to  purloin  cash  by 
stealing  the  live  stock  of  the  farm,  which  he  sold  at  low  rates. 


118 


MICHAEL  MARTIN. 


In  a  short '.ime  his  condition  was  little  better  than  that  of  an 
outlaw,  for  no  honest  man  in  the  neighbourhood  would  have  any 
communication  with  him.  He  began,  too,  to  be  intemperate, 
but  as  yet  he  had  not  committed  any  very  enormous  crime. 
Perhaps  a  judicious  course  on  the  part  of  his  family,  might 
have  reclaimed  him  even  then;  but  their  treatment  was  as  ill 
advised  as  might  be.  Sometimes  he  met  with  excessive  kind 
ness,  and  sometimes  extreme  severity.  Whether  he  might 
have  reformed  or  not,  however,  is  no  business  of  ours.  He 
found  himself  so  uncomfortable  that  he  resolved  to  leave  his 
home  as  soon  as  any  feasible  way  of  living  should  present 
itself. 

One  night  he  remained  in  the  bar  of  an  inn  till  all  the  com¬ 
pany  had  retired,  save  two  men,  who  invited  him  to  drink  with 
them.  One  of  these  called  himself  John  Doherty.  He  was 
a  fine  looking,  middle  aged  man,  over  six  feet  high,  with  a' 
strongly  expressive  countenance  and  black  eyes.  He  wore 
the  dress,  and  spoke  the  language  of  a  clergyman  of  the 
high  church.  He  asked  our  hero  many  questions  touching 
himself,  his  connexions,  and  business.  He  asked  ifhe  had  not 
absconded  from  Dublin,  if  he  were  not  fond  of  spending  money, 
and  if  he  were  very  scrupulous  concerning  the  means  by 
which  it  might  be  obtained.  Martin  was  not  surprised  at  see¬ 
ing  the  man  drink,  for  he  knew  that  was  not  uncommon  among 
the  Irish  clergy,  nor  at  hearing  him  speak  in  such  a  manner, 
knowing  that  many  of  the  protestant  priests  acted  as  spies 
upon  the  affairs  of  the  United  Irishmen. 

Mr.  Doherty  urged  our  hero,  himself  nothing  loth,  to  drink, 
and  presently  threw  off  his  priestly  disguise,  talking  much 
about  robbery  and  religion.  Martin  tried  him  with  the  secret 
signs  of  the  United  Irishmen,  but  he  did  not,  or  would  not 
understand  them.  In  the  morning  the  mysterious  stranger 
mounted  a  high  blooded  horse,  but  before  he  started,  called 
Martin  to  his  side  and  asked  which  way  he  meant  to  journey. 
Being  informed,  he  said  he  was  going  the  same  road,  and 
should  be  happy  to  travel  in  company.  If  Martin  should  be 
tired  with  walking  he  might  take  his  horse.  So  they  travelled 
together  till  they  arrived  at  a  tavern,  which  our  hero  entered 
at  the  pressing  solicitation  of  Mr.  Doherty.  Here  they  pass¬ 
ed  the  day,  in  the  course  of  which,  the  stranger,  by  dint  of 
questioning,  learned  that  his  fellow  traveller  was  very  agile, 
and  a  fleet  runner.  They  ran  a  race,  one  against  the  other, 
and  Martin  then  exhibited  his  skill  in  horsemanship.  In 
the  evening,  the  stranger  ordered  liquors  and  other  refresh- 


MICHAEL  MARTIN.  119 

ments  into  a  private  apartment,  whither  the  new  acquaintances 
retired. 

H  ere  Mr.  Doherty  presently  convinced  our  hero  that  he 
was  intimately  acquainted  with  his  feelings,  history,  situation, 
and  prospects.  After  this  exordium,  the  stranger  announced 
himself  as  Captain  Thunderbolt,  a  notorious  highwayman, 
whose  desperate  feats  had  made  him  the  terror  of  the  south 
.  of  Ireland.  At  the  moment  he  spoke  there  was  a  large  re¬ 
ward  offered  for  his  head.  Martin  was  something  appalled  at 
finding  himself  in  such  company,  and  would  have  left  the 
room,  but  the  robber  told  him  he  must  stay,  as  he  could  not 
bear  to  part  with  so  “  clever  a  fellow.”  This  sentiment  he 
supported  by  producing  and  cocking  a  pistol.  They  sat  down 
again,  and  Mr.  Thunderbolt  related  his  exploits,  urged  Mar¬ 
tin  to  drink,  and  offered  him  his  purse,  from  which  the  latter 
would  take  only  six  guineas.  In  short,  he  found  the  way  to 
our  hero’s  heart. 

At  midnight  a  great  uproar  was  heard  below,  and  Captain 
Thunderbolt  opened  the  shutters  to  learn  the  cause  of  it.  He 
found  that  a  party  of  dragoons  had  arrived,  in  pursuit  of  him, 
and  heard  his  name  pronounced  in  the  room  immediately  be¬ 
neath.  He  then  named  a  place  where  he  would  meet  Mar¬ 
tin,  and  escaped  through  the  window.  Scarcely  had  he  de¬ 
parted  when  a  knocking  was  heard  at  the  door  of  the  room, 
and  several  voices  demanded  admission.  Martin,  in  order  to 
give  his  new  friend  time  to  escape,  kept  them  out  some  min¬ 
utes,  posit,  pely  swearing  that  Thunderbolt  was  not  within.  At 
last  the  soldiers  forced  the  door,  seized  Michael,  and  carried 
him  down  stairs,  as  an  accomplice.  He  denied  all  knowledge 
of  the  robber,  and  as  the  publican  happened,  luckily,  to 
know  his  family,  he  was  liberated.  Finding  themselves  dis¬ 
appointed,  the  dragoons  rode  off,  and  Martin  immediately 
proceeded  to  the  place  of  rendezvous.  He  found  Doherty 
there;  and  took  him  to  his  father’s  barn,  where  he  told  him  he 
had  better  sleep,  and  depart  early  in  the  morning  before  any 
of  the  family  should  be  stirring.  Then,  having  appointed  an¬ 
other  place  of  meeting,  our  hero  went  to  bed. 

At  noon  the  next  day  Martin  went  to  see  the  robber,  taking 
with  him  bread  and  meat  for  the  man,  and  grain  for  the  horse 
Thunderbolt  now  invited  the  young  man  to  become  his  partner 
in  business,  saying  that  he  would  get  a  better  living  so  than 
he  could  do  in  any  other  manner.  Our  hero  replied  that  he 
was  unwilling  to  disgrace  his  family,  which  generous  senti¬ 
ment  the  robber  turned  into  ridicule.  Nevertheless,  the 


120 


MICHAEL  MARTIN. 


young  man  resolutely  resisted  his  persuasions.  Martin-then 
went  back  to  his  father’s  house,  whence  he  sent  a  boy  to  an 
inr  C.>r  brantty,  with  which  he  returned  to  his  friend.  They 
sp.  o':  toe  afternoon  drinking,  and  after  appointing  a  place  of 
rendezvous  and  a  signal,  they  parted,  and  the  youth  returned 
to  his  old  haunts,  and  lived  unnoticed  by  his  connexions. 

A  week  after,  he  received  a  letter  from  Doherty,  desiring 
a  meeting.  He  went  to  the  place,  and  found  the  robber  so 
disguised  that  he  scarcely  knew  him.  He  had  on  a  quaker 
suit,  wore  long,  false,  gray  hair,  and  beside,  his  face  was 
painted  pale.  He  had  a  led  horse  with  him. 

The  brace  of  worthies  passed  the  night  together  in  a  de¬ 
serted  cabin,  and  Martin  was  favored  with  an  abstract  of  his 
friend’s  system  of  ethics.  It  was  sufficiently  amusing.  He 
w'as  probably  the  founder  of  the  Fanny  Wright  political  code, 
for  he  said  it  was  his  aim  to  equalise  property.  To  this  end, 
what  he  took  from  the  rich  he  would  impart  to  the  poor. 
Such  persons  as  had  more  wealth  than  was  useful  or  neces¬ 
sary,  he  would  deprive  of  their  superfluity,  but  not  of  their 
lives — if  he  could  help  it.  If  any  strong  necessity  should 
occur,  such  as  danger  of  detection,  or  resistance,  he  consid¬ 
ered  himself  justified  in  enforcing  his  principles,  even  by  the 
spilling  of  blood.  His  practice,  too,  in  another  particular, 
seems  to  have  coincided  with  the  theory  of  the  “  social  sys¬ 
tem,”  He  had  been  five  times  married,  and  had  dissolved 
each  connexion  by  his  own  sovereign  will  and  pleasure, 
leaving  his  offspring  to  shift  for  themselves,  though  their 
mothers  had  brought  him  considerable  property.  Thus  it 
is  apparent  he  considered  conjugal  obligations  mere  vulgar 
errors.  His  life  had  been  such  as  might  have  been  expected 
from  such  rules  of  action.  He  had  long  travelled  over  the 
three  united  kingdoms  in  the  exercise  of  his  vocation,  and  had 
done  much  toward  reducing  all  ranks  to  the  desired  equality. 
Yet  lie  had  never  killed  or  maimed  any  person.  He  had  as¬ 
sumed  all  characters  and  all  names,  those  of  priest  and  lay¬ 
man,  banker  and  beggar  included. 

At  this  meeting  Michael  Martin  became  a  convert  to  the 
u  Social”  doctrine,  and  consented  to  unite  his  fortunes  with 
thosfe  of  Captain  Thunderbolt.  At  this  time  he  was  twenty- 
one  years  old,  light,  strong,  and  agile.  He  wras  five  feet  nine 
inches  high,  well  proportioned,  with  fair  complexion,  light 
hair  and  blue  eyes.  His  weight  exceeded  an  hundred  and 
seventy  pounds.  The  expression  of  his  countenance  was 
pleasing  and  indicative  of  good  nature.  With  these  advan¬ 
tages,  then,  he  started  in  the  career  of  life. 


MICHAEL  MARTIN. 


121 


After  preaching  along  sermon  to  his  proselyte  on  the  rules 
of  the  profession,  Captain  Thunderbolt  initiated  him  into  the 
order  of  clerks  of  St.  Nicholas,  by  throwing  a  glass  of  brandy  in 
his  face  and  calling  him  “  Captain  Lightfoot.”  He  next 
presented  Martin  with  arms,  and  they  set  out  for  an  assembly 
where  men  of  all  orders  were  to  assemble  for  the  purpose  of 
hunting.  •> 

As  they  proceeded  they  met  many  passengers  whom  Do¬ 
herty  would  not  deign  to  notice.  He  waited  for  some  of  the 
gentry,  from  whom  he  might  take  a  horse  that  would  answer 
for  his  pupil.  Previous  to  adventuring,  the  equalisers  shook 
hands  and  agreed  not  to  abandon  each  other  in  any  case. 

At  last  they  met  four  well  mounted  gentlemen,  and  Doherty 
expressed  himself  willing  to  see  a  proof  of  his  associate’s 
courage.  Martin  hesitated  to  attack"  so  many,  but  his  tutor, 
told  him  he  should  not  fear  though  there  were  a  hundred. 
He  said  he  knew  them  all,  that  none  were  armed,  and  two 
were  cowards.  Captain  Thunderbolt  then  took  a  position  by 
the  road  side. 

Captain  Lightfoot  rode  boldly  up,  and  presenting  a  pistol, 
commanded  the  gentlemen  to  deliver.  One  of  them  instantly 
wheeled  his  horse  and  fled  at  full  speed.  The  one  nighest 
the  pistol  said  he  had  little  money  about  him,  but  the  robber 
replied  that  he  had  heard  he  carried  it  under  his  saddle,  and 
commanded  him  to  alight  in  order  that  he  might  examine. 
The  gentleman  did  not  obey  till  Captain  Lightfoot  drew  his 
horse  away  from  the  others  by  the  reins.  He  then  came  down, 
Martin  sprang  into  the  empty  saddle,  and  ordered  the  others 
to  alight  also.  They  instantly  obeyed. 

Michael  then  rifled  them  all',  and  compelled  the  person  he 
had  dismounted  to  exchange  coats  and  hats  with  him.  All 
the  while  Captain  Thunderbolt  lay  quaking  in  his  quaker’s 
coat,  by  the  side  of  the  road,  and  it  is  probable  the  gentlemen 
took  him  for  what  he  was,  an  accomplice,  since  they  submitted 
so  readily.  One  of  them  asked  Martin  if  he  were  Captain 
Thunderbolt;  to  which  he  answered  that  he  was  not  Thunder¬ 
bolt,  but  his  brother,  Captain  Lightfoot.  He  then  bade  them 
good  morning,  and  the  worthy  pair  rode  off  across  the  fields 
to  a  wood,  where  the  younger  villain  dressed  himself  in  his 
spoils.  He  received  the  applause  of  his  comrade  for  his  con¬ 
duct,  and  they  proceeded  to  the  county  of  Cork,  where  they 
hid  themselves  in  a  wood. 

Doherty  hence  sent  his  pupil  to  a  neighbouring  town  for 
some  liquor,  wherewith  to  baptize  the  stolen  horse;  an  oper- 


122 


MICHAEL  MARTIN. 


ation,  which,  he  said,  was  indispensable.  The  liquor  was 
soon  procured,  and  Doherty,  pouring  some  into  the  animal’s 
ears,  gave  it  a  name. 

The  robbers  then  went  toward  Cashel  irr  search  of  game, 
but  found  none.  To  do  Doherty  justice,  he  behaved  for  a 
time,  better  than  well.  When  he  saw  the  appearance  of  mis¬ 
ery  and  want  about  any  cabin,  he  alighted  and  gave  the  inmates 
money. 

Doherty  now  changed  his  dress  in  order  to  pass  for  Martin’s 
servant,  and  in  this  guise  they  entered  Cashel,  where  our  hero 
comported  himself  according  to  his  preceptor’s  instructions. 
The  next  day  they  left  the  place,  and  were  pursued  by  a  party 
of  cavalry,  from  whom  they  had  much  difficulty  to  escape. 
Several  shots  were  fired  after  them,  and  one  ball  struck 
Doherty’s  saddle. 

That  night  they  slept  at  a  village  on  the  road  to  Galway. 
In  the  morning,  when  about  to  depart,  they  found  that  Martin’s 
horse  was  lame,  and  he  was  obliged  to  hire  another  by  no 
means  as  good.  They  then  went  to  another  village,  where 
they  remained  close,  for  they  had  seen  an  advertisement  of  their 
robbery,  and  some  of  the  pursuers  had  actually  passed  through 
the  place. 

Leaving  this  place  they  took  the  road  to  Cork,  where  they 
expected  to  reap  an  abundant  harvest.  In  the  afternoon  they 
rode  up  to  an  inn,  wherein  they  instantly  discovered  a  number 
of  soldiers  and  police  officers.  Though  commanded  to  stop, 
they  turned  and  galloped  off.  Three  or  four  guns  were  fired 
at  them,  but  their  horses  carried  them  out  of  shot  in  a  very 
few  minutes.  Two  days  after,  they  reached  the  city  of  Cork. 

Here  they  remained  close  three  days,  rioting  and  drinking. 
Martin’s  horse  died  the  first  night  of  excessive  fatigue.  At  last, 
tired  of  confinement,  the  robbers  resolved  to  leave  the  place, 
and  Doherty  sent  a  boy  for  his  horse.  The  keeper  of  the 
stable  refused  to  deliver  the  animal  to  any  other  than  the  per¬ 
son  who  committed  it  to  his  custody,  whereat  the  associates 
determined  to  leave  Cork  immediately,  on  foot,  as  they  feared 
some  stratagem  to  entrap  them.  They  executed  their  purpose 
and  arrived  the  next  evening  at  Doneraile,  where  they  put  up 
at  a  small  inn,  though  there  was  an  advertisement  describing 
them  posted  upon  the  door. 

It  was  difficult  to  mistake  the  person  of  Captain  Thunder¬ 
bolt.  The  next  afternoon,  while  he  slept,  Michael  watched 
at  the  window,  and  presently  saw  a  party,  among  whom  were 
some  soldiers,  approaching  the  house.  He  awoke  his  comrade, 


MICHAEL  MARTIN. 


123 


and  they  pushed  down  stairs.  At  the  bottom  they  met  their 
host,  who  would  have  stopped  Doherty,  that  he  might  pay 
the  reckoning,  as  he  said.  Doherty  instantly  prostrated 
him  with  a  fisticuff,  and  the  two  captains  then  ran  off  as 
fast  as  they  could  across  the  fields,  the  soldiers  pursuing 
and  firing  at  them.  Doherty  received  a  ball  in  the  calf  ot 
his  leg,  but  still  ran  on.  After  a  hot  chase  the  robbers 
escaped  into  a  wood,  where  Doherty  sank  down,  exhausted 
with  fatigue  and  the  loss  of  blood.  A  draught  of  brandy 
revived  him,  and  Martin  then  cut  out  the  ball  with  a  pen¬ 
knife.  Michael  next  made  a  bed  of  bushes  and  leaves  for 
the  wounded  man,  as  it  was  evident  they  would  be  obliged  to 
make  a  halt  of  some  duration. 

The  partners  remained  twenty-four  hours  in  the  wood, 
without  food  or  drink.  That  night  our  hero  went  in  the  dis¬ 
guise  of  a  beggar,  to  a  gentleman’s  house.  He  found  the 
servants  had  all  retired  to  rest,  and  they  would  not  rise  at  his 
call.  He  therefore  broke  into  a  poultry-house  and  stole  a 
brace  of  turkeys,  with  which  he  returned  to  his  companion. 
By  the  aid  of  a  pistol  he  kindled  a  fire,  and  roasted  a  turkey, 
which  he  devoured  with  great  appetite;  but  Thunderbolt 
refused  to  partake,  as  he  hoped  to  cure  his  wound  by  absti¬ 
nence. 

Two  days  after,  they  left  the  wood  and  travelled  slowly 
toward  a  small  village.  Doherty  knew  the  country  well,  so 
that  they  were  mutually  useful,  the  preceptor  as  a  guide  and 
the  pupil  as  a  support  in  walking.  When  they  came,nigh  the 
village,  Doherty  hid  himself  in  the  bushes,  while  Martin 
went  to  an  apothecary  for  certain  medicaments  of  which  the 
former  knew  the  uses.  According  to  Martin,  Captain  Thun¬ 
derbolt  had  received  a  very  tolerable  education:  he  knew 
something  of  medicine  and  most  other  sciences,  and  was  able, 
on  occasion,  to  converse  plausibly  on  the  subject  of  religion. 
Martin  procured  the  prescription,  and  after  applying  it  the 
companions  left  the  place  and  hid  themselves  in  a  fox  cover 
where  Doherty  intended  to  remain  till  his  wound  should  be 
healed. 

Having  seen  some  persons  whose  appearance  did  not  please 
him,  Martin  dared  not  go  in  quest  of  provisions,  and  conse¬ 
quently  the  robbers  Vere  three  days  without  food.  The 
younger  outlaw  then  went  to  a  farm  house,  robbed  a  woman 
of  a  dish  of  hasty  pudding  and  carried  it  to  his  companion. 
They  sustained  life  in  this  precarious  manner  for  a  fortnight 
Thus,  it  seems,  highway  robbery  is  by  no  means  so  pleasan 

6* 


324 


MICHAEL  MARTIN. 


a  way  of  living  as  Martin  had  expected.  A  day  of  plenty 
was  followed  by  a  week  of  starvation;  not  was  there  any  of 
the  freedom  and  independence  he  had  been  led  to  suppose. 
To  be  compelled  to  shun  the  face  of  man,  to  fear  hourly  for 
life;  and  to  remain  concealed  in  woods  and  hovels,  suffering 
hunger  and  thirst,  may  be  considered  an- off-set  against  the 
possession  of  riches.  Yerily,  Martin  found  that  vice  carries 
its  own  punishment.  Often  did  he  weep,  and  wish  himself  an 
honest  man  The  older  reprobate  made  sport  of  such  feel¬ 
ings,  telling  him  he  was  already  committed,  and  might  as  well 
play  out  the  game.  More  than  once  our  hero  resolved  to 
leave  Doherty  and  shift  for  himself,  but  the  arguments  of  the 
veteran  villain  always  prevailed  over  his  better  judgment. 

When  Captain  Thunderbolt  was  so  far  recovered  as  to  be 
able  to  walk,  the  robbers  repaired  to  Clonmel,  where  a  crim¬ 
inal  court  was  in  session.  Some  United  Irishmen  with  whom 
Martin  was  acquainted,  were  to  be  tried.  Two  of  them  were 
sentenced  to  the  gallows,  and  the  rest  to  be  transported. 
Martin  proposed  to  Doherty  to  rescue  some  of  them,  but 
though  they  took  much  pains,  they  never  gained  an  opportu¬ 
nity.  Moreover,  the  presiding  judge  conceived  strong  sus¬ 
picions  of  our  adventurers,  and  cautioned  their  landlord 
against  them.  They  heard  of  this,  and  determined  to  be  re¬ 
venged;  to  which  end  they  remained  quiet  till  the  assizes 
were  over. 

The  worthy  judge  travelled  with  his  own  coach  and  four, 
with  a  retinue  of  armed  servants.  The  night  before  he  left 
Clonmel,  the  thieves  broke  into  his  stable  and  took  the  linch¬ 
pins  from  the  hinder  wheels  of  the  carriage.  In  the  morn¬ 
ing,  they  went  about  two  miles  from  the  place  to  wait  for  the 
coach.  They  had  not  waited  long,  when  the  horses  dashed 
furiously  by  them,  dragging  the  fore  wheels  only.  They 
went  back,  and  met  the  servants  on  the  way  in  pursuit  of  the 
horses.  When  they  arrived  at  the  spot  where  the  coach  had 
broken  down,  they  saw  that  it  was  broken  in  pieces,  and  a 
crowd  was  gathered  about  it.  None  had  been  hurt,  except¬ 
ing  the  coachman,  whose  leg  was  broken.  The  robbers  put 
each  a  guinea  into  his  hand,  and  went  off,  as  they  could  not 
steal  anything  among  such  a  multitude. 

Then,  travelling  toward  Dublin,  the  comrades  met  a  bar¬ 
onet  whom  they  resolved  to  rob.  Doherty  took  off  his  hat 
and  respectfully  accosted  him,  saying  he  had  a  letter  to  deliv¬ 
er.  The  knight  reined  in  his  horse,  when  Doherty,  producing 
a  large  pistol,  commanded  him  to  deliver.  He  hesitated,  but 


126 


MICHAEL  MARTIN. 


the  robber  seized  the  reins,  and  told  him  his  life  depended  on 
speedy  obedience.  In  the  meanwhile  Martin  kept  the  baron¬ 
et’s  servant  still  with  a  cocked  pistol. 

The  nobleman  gave  up  a  valuable  watch,  and  upwards  of 
thirty  pounds  in  gold  and  notes.  The  servant  offered  Martin 
a  silver  watch  and  some  small  change;  but  the  highwayman 
told  him  they  were  not  worth  taking,  and  that  he  would  not 
plunder  a  poor  man,  in  any  case.  Doherty  added,  that  they 
addressed  themselves  to  none  but  gentlemen.  He  then  said, 
that  neither  need  fear  for  his  life,  as  he  knew  he  could  get 
what  he  wanted  without  blood  spilling. .  He  next  ordered  mas¬ 
ter  and  man  to  dismount,  which  they  did  very  quietly,  and 
the  robbers  mounted  in  their  places.  Then,  bidding  the  per¬ 
sons  plundered  good  morning,  the  reprobates  rode  on. 

At  the  distance  of  fifty  miles  from  Dublin  they  came  in 
sight  of  ah  elegant  seat,  the  property  of  a  Mr.  Wilbrook.  Here 
Doherty  proposed  to  effect  something,  lest,  as  he  said,  they 
should  grow  rusty  by  want  of  practice.  He  rode  to  the  door 
and  inquired  if  Sir  John  Barker  lived  there,  and  on  being  an¬ 
swered  that  it  was  the  residence  of  Mr.  Wilbrook,  said  that 
gentleman  was  the  very  person  he  wished  to  see.  The  ser¬ 
vant  replied  that  his  master  was  gone  to  a  hunt,  and  added 
that  there  was  no  one  at  home  but  Mr.  Wilbrook’s  sisters  and 
servants. 

The  robbers  alighted,  and  ordered  the  menials  to  take  care 
of  their  horses  and  summon  the  ladies.  When  they  entered 
Doherty  addressed  them  very  politely,  saying  that  he  had 
been  robbed  the  night  before,  and  had  learned  that  the  robber 
was  one  of  Mr.  Wilbrook’s  servants.  He  desired  to  see  all 
the  menials  in  the  house  and  they  were  accordingly  assem¬ 
bled  in  the  hall.  After  examining  them,  one  by  one,  he  open¬ 
ed  the  door  of  a  small  room  and  commanded  them  all  to  en¬ 
ter  it.  At  the  same  time  both  the  robbers  produced  their 
pistols,  and  Doherty  told  the  domestics  that  the  first  one  who 
stirred  should  suffer  death.  Leaving  Martin  to  guard  the 
door,  he  desired  the  ladies  to  walk  into  another  apartment, 
where  he  declared  his  business.  He  said  he  had  heard  there 
was  much  treasure  in  the  house,  and  was  resolved  to  have  it. 

The  ladies  were,  as  might  be  expected,  much  alarmed, 
and  produced  cash  and  trinkets  to  the  value  of  two  hundred 
pounds,  nearly;  but  this  did  not  satisfy  Doherty,  who  declared 
he  would  have  more.  The  women  then  produced  watches 
and  jewels  of  their  own,  but  the  robber  declared  he  would 
rather  die  than  take  anything  from  a  female.  The  comrades 


MICHAEL  MARTIN. 


127 


next  divided  the  spoil,  returned  the  key  of  the  room  where  the 
servants  were  confined,  kissed  the  ladies,  and  finally  rode 
away,  well  content  with  their  exploit. 

After  this  adventure,  they  travelled  toward  a  hunting  ground, 
and  on  the  road  met  two  gentlemen  mounted  on  very  excel¬ 
lent  horses.  Doherty  compelled  them  to  exchange  steeds 
with  himself  and  his  companion,  and  Martin  would  have  taken 
their  watches  and  money  also,  but  Doherty  said  they  had 
enough;  not  that  he  was  satisfied  with  the  beasts,  but  because 
he  feared  that  other  sportsmen,  of  whom  the  road  was  full, 
might  come  up. 

Stopping  for  the  night  in  the  inn  of  a  village  called  Cor¬ 
coran,  the  landlord  suspected  their  profession,  and  sent 
privately  for  a  party  of  the  police.  He  had  seen  an  adver¬ 
tisement  of  their  last  robbery  which  contained  an  accurate  de¬ 
scription  of  their  persons.  Martin  knew  nothing  of  this  till 
he  was  informed  by  a  girl  in  the  kitchen,  with  whom  he  had 
commenced  a  flirtation.  Scarcely  had  the  girl  done  speaking 
when  a  noise  was  heard,  and  Martin  discovered  that  the 
soldiery  were  already  in  the  house.  Seeing  that  he  could 
render  no  aid  to  Doherty,  he  leaped  through  a  closed  window, 
which  cut  his  face  and  hands,  but  not  severely.  The  soldiers 
pursued  him,  and  as  he  was  getting  over  the  garden  wall,  two 
of  them  fired.  Martin  fell  on  the  farther  side,  and  remained 
motionless,  though  not  at  all  injured.  The  soldiers  came 
up  with  a  lantern  and  examined  him;  but,  as  he  remained 
perfectly  still,  they  believed  him  dead,  and  left  him.  As  soon 
as  they  were  gone  he  rose,  and  after  running  a  considerable 
distance  hid  himself  in  some  bushes  near  the  high  road. 

He  had  almost  fallen  asleep,  when  he  heard  the  steps  and 
voices  of  an  approaching  crowd.  They  presently  came  close 
to  him,  some  on  horseback,  others  on  foot,  with  lights  and 
firearms.  In  the  midst,  our  hero  perceived  the  redoubtable 
Captain  Thunderbolt,  tied  upon  a  horse,  with  an  armed  guard 
on  each  side  of  him.  To  diminish  his  chance  of  escape  his 
captors  had  tied  a  white  cloth  round  his  hat,  which  rendered 
him  the  most  conspicuous  object  in  the  procession. 

Martin  followed  the  throng  to  the  house  of  the  next 
magistrate,  a  distance  of  three  miles.  He  stopped,  however, 
by  the  way,  at  a  cabin,  whence  the  inmates  were  absent, 
having  probably  gone  to  see  the  sport.  Here  he  disguised 
himself  in  some  degree  by  staining  his  face  and  tearing  his 
clothes,  and  then  mixed  among  the  crowd.  He  now  perceived 
that  his  comrades  hands  were  tied  behind  him  and  that  his 


128 


MICHAEL  MARTIN. 


feet  were  secured  in  like  manner.  Our  hero  witnessed  the 
examination  before  the  magistrate,  who  was  presently  satisfied 
that  the  prisoner  was  no  other  than  the  notorious  Captain 
Thunderbolt.  As  there  was  no  prison  at  hand,  the  highway¬ 
man  was  ordered  to  bd  confined  in  the  house  till  morning. 

Having  ascertained  the  strength  of  the  guard  our  hero  went 
forth  with  the  rest  of  the  crowd  and  concealed  himself  near 
the  magistrate’s  stable,  resolved  to  leave  no  means  untried  to 
effect  his  comrade’s  liberation.  At  midnight  he  set  fire  to 
the  building  by  means  of  one  of  his  pistols,  and  then  cried 
u  Fire,”  with  all  his  might.  A  great  alarm  was  created,  and 
most  of  those  who  guarded  the  prisoner  ran  to  aid  in  ex¬ 
tinguishing  the  flames.  Martin  availed  himself  of  the  occa¬ 
sion  to  enter  the  room  where  Doherty  was  kept.  There  were 
but  three  soldiers  in  the  apartment,  who  sat  quietly  beside 
the  captive  while  their  arms  were  piled  in  a  corner. 

As  Martin  entered  he  showed  his  pistols,  swearing  he  would 
shoot  the  first  that  moved.  The  soldiers  sat  still  and  offered 
no  resistance  while  he  cut  Doherty’s  bonds  and  gave  him  one 
of  his  pistols.  But  as  the  prisoner  rose  one  of  his  keepers 
sprang  to  a  musket.  Before  he  could  use  it  Martin  shot  him 
in  the  leg,  and  disabled  him.  The  others  were  yet  more 
alarmed,  at  his  fall,  and  the  robbers  went  off  without  moles¬ 
tation. 

They  travelled  all  night  on  foot,  but  in  the  morning  per¬ 
ceived  a  groom  training  a  very  fine  horse,  which  Doherty 
instantly  demanded.  The  menial  refused  to  surrender  the 
animal,  saying  he  should  be  punished  if  he  lost  it,  but  Doher¬ 
ty  cut  short  the  argument  by  dismounting  the  man  forcibly. 
The  villains  both  mounted  and  rode  toward  Dublin,  choosing 
to  journey  circuitously  and  to  avoid  the  public  roads,  for 
wherever  they  stopped  they  saw  themselves  advertised. 

At  last,  when  they  were  within  thirty  miles  of  the  capital, 
they  hit  upon  a  plan  to  obtain  another  horse.  Martin,  at  night, 
broke  into  a  garden  adjoining  a  stable  which  he  found 
locked.  Being  resolved  to  effect  his  purpose,  he  clomb  by 
means  of  a  long  pole  to  the  window,  which  he  burst  in,  and 
got  upon  the  haymow.  Groping  about  in  the  dark,  he  fell 
through  a  rack  among  the  horses  and  broke  a  finger  of  his 
left  hand,  of  which  he  never  after  recovered  the  use.  Nothing 
discouraged,  however,  by  this  misadventure,  He  went  about 
feeling  the  horses  until  he  found  a  restless  young  one,  which, 
by  examining  the  hoofs,  he  knew  had  never  been  shod.  He 
put  his  handkerchief  round  the  animal’s  neck  and  led  it  out 
to  the  spot  where  Doherty  was  waiting  for  him. 


MICHAEL  MARTIN. 


m 


The  veteran  highwayman  disapproved  of  Martin’s  selec- 
tidn,  saying  the  horse  was  too  wild  for  service,  but  our  hero, 
like  another  Alexander,  insisted  on  trying  his  steed.  He  took 
the  saddle  and  bridle  from  Doherty’s  horse,  put  them  on  his 
own,  and  mounted.  The  experiment  was  ill  advised:  the  un¬ 
broken  colt  started  at  full  speed  for  his  owner’s  house,  in 
spite  of  all  Martin’s  endeavors  to  stop  him.  As  he  approached 
the  building  the  robber  saw  that  .the  people  had  taken  the 
alarm  and  were  on  foot,  with  lights.  At  this  sight  he  con¬ 
trived  to  throw  the  horse  down  and  ran  away,  leaving  the 
saddle  and  bridle.  The  people  pursued  our  hero;  while  he 
ran  in  such  a  direction  as  to  lead  them  away  from  Doherty. 
The  chase  became  so  hot  that  he  was  compelled  to  jump  into  a 
muddy  pond,  and  as  he  could  not  swim  for  the  mire,  to  wade 
through  it.  In  about  an  hour  he  rejoined  his  companion. 
His  voice  was  so  changed  by  terror  and  fatigue  that  Doherty 
did  not  recognise  it,  and  was  on  the  point  of  firing  at  him. 
What  was  worst  of  all,  they  were  obliged  to  leave  their  re¬ 
maining  horse,  for  want  of  the  saddle  and  bridle  Martin  had 
so  strangely  lost.  Coming  to  a  running  stream,  Martin 
stripped  and  washed  his  clothes,  which  he  was  obliged  to  dry 
by  the  heat  of  his  body. 

In  the  morning  they  entered  a  farm  house,  where  they  got 
something  to  eat,  and  went  to  bed.  When  they  awoke  they 
pushed  on  again,  till  they  came  to  the  house  of  one  of  Do¬ 
herty’s  old  companions,  who  was  under  many  obligations  to 
him.  This  man  lived  in  a  retired  situation  near  the  Dublin 
road,  and  here  the  robbers  determined  to  remain  a  few  days. 
Nevertheless,  they  soon  became  suspicious  of  their  host,  who 
talked  much  about  the  reward  offered  for  their  apprehension. 
Wherefore,  they  sent  the  man  for  some  whiskey  and  de¬ 
camped  before  he  returned,  taking  the  road  to  Dublin. 

The  next  morning  they  met  two  gentlemen,  one  an  army 
officer,  in  a  handsome  chaise.  Doherty  stepped  up  to  the 
vehicle,  with  a  low  bow,  and  the  gentlemen  reined  in  their 
horse.  The  robber  asked  if  they  would  inform  him  what  was 
the  time  of  day,  and  as  one  of  them  was  consulting  his  watch, 
presented  a  pistol,  and  asked  for  their'  watches  and  money. 
Martin  seconded  him  by  standing  at  the  horse’s  head,  declar¬ 
ing  he  would  shoot  the  animal  if  they  stirred. 

“Are  you  really  in  want  of  money?”  asked  the  officer. 

u  Yes,”  replied  Doherty,  “  we  are  very  poor,  and  you 
Englishmen  have  made  us  so.” 

One  of  the  gentlemen  ttaen  said  that  they  would  give  up  all 


130 


MICHAEL  MARTIN. 


the  money  they  had,  while  the  other  asked  sont)e  unimportant 
questions  and  looked  anxiously  behind  him.  He  demanded 
if  they  meant  to  strip  him  of  everything.  “  Give  me  your 
watches  first,”  said  Doherty,  “  and  then  I  ’ll  be  after  your 
purses,  to  pay  the  taxes  on  them.”  At  this  moment  Martin 
perceived  that  the  officer  was  fumbling  in  his  pocket,  and 
suspected  he  was  feeling  for  a  pistol.  He  instantly  threw 
his  own  at  the  gentleman,  which  struck  him  on  the  head  and 
laid  him  senseless.  At  this  the  other  fell  on  his  knees,  and 
prayed  them  to  spare  his  life.  The  robbers  dragged  the  gen¬ 
tlemen  from  the  chaise.  One  of  them  was  already  insensible, 
and  a  blow  of  Doherty’s  fist  reduced  the  Other  to  the  same 
condition.  Then,  having  plundered  them  of  their  watches  and 
fifty  guineas,  the  robbers  drove  off  in  the  chaise.  After  going 
about  five  miles,  they  left  the  vehicle  in  the  road,  and  went 
to  a  house  belonging  to  one  of  Doherty’s  acquaintance. 

Before  they  left  this  man’s  house  they  heard  of  a  poor  per 
son  in  the  neighbourhood  whose  furniture  and  other  property 
were  about  to  be  seized  for  tithes.  They  paid  him  a  visit, 
and  learned  that  the  sum  he  owed  was  over  forty  pounds. 
Doherty  lent  him  the  money  on  his  promise  to  pay  in  a  year, 
and  refused  to  take  his  note  for  it;  but  enjoined  it  on  him  to 
take  a  receipt  from  the  clergyman,  or  whoever  should  receive 
the  sum.  The  man  promised  to  obey,  and  the  two  robbers 
watched  in  the  neighbourhood  till  they  saw  the  priest  enter 
the  house. 

They  remained  concealed  by  the  road  side  all  night.  In  the 
morning  the  clergyman  and  an  officer  of  the  excise  approach¬ 
ed,  both  well  mounted.  Martin  accosted  the  priest,  saying 
that  he  had  a  letter  for  him,  and  presented  him  with  a  blank 
paper.  He  halted,  as  did  his  companion,  and  the  next  mo¬ 
ment  Doherty  presented  a  pistol  and  demanded  his  money. 
Martin  did  as  much  by  the  exciseman.  The  parson  pleaded 
poverty  and  said  he  had  no  cash  about  him,  but  Doherty  gave 
him  the  lie  direct.  “  Are  you  not  ashamed  of  yourself?” 
said  he.  “  I  did  not  think  you  pious  protestants  could  lie  so. 
I  know  that  you  have  money,  and  came  wrongfully  by  it; 
therefore,  restore  it  to  its  proper  owner.”  The  priest  proved 
refractory,  and  would  have  resisted;  nay,  he  called  on  his 
companion  for  assistance,  but  Martin  kept  the  exciseman  quiet 
with  his  pistol.  The  clergyman  continued  recusant,  and  would 
have  escaped  had  not  Doherty  lodged  a  charge  of  small  shot 
and  salt  in  his  thigh,  which  brought  him  from  his  horse.  The 
thieves  then  rifled  him  of  his  watch,  some  silver,  and  the  very 


MICHAEL  MARTIN.  131 

money  Doherty  had  lent  the  poor  man.  The  horses  they  did 
not  care  to  take. 

After  this  they  put  up  in  a  widow’s  house,  and  remained 
quiet  a  week.  While  there,  they  became  acquainted  (by  re¬ 
port)  with  a  certain  widow  Macbriar.  This  lady  had  been  a 
poor  countrywoman,  but  had  married  a  rich  man,  who  at  his 
decease  left  her  in  affluent  circumstances.  Doherty  advised 
Martin  to  become  the  husband  of  so  pretty  a  property,  and  in 
order  to  put  the  matter  in  train,  they  started  for  Dublin, 
where  our  hero  might  be  provided  with  raiment  suitable  for 
a  wooer.  At  every  house  where  they  halted  they  heard  the 
name  of  Captain  Thunderbolt,  and  saw  advertisements  de¬ 
scribing  their  persons. 

They  overtook  on  the  road  the  servant  of  an  army  officer, 
who  was  carrying  his  master’s  uniform  to  a  tailor  to  be  re¬ 
paired.  Doherty  made  the  dress  his  own,  after  his  usual 
fashion  of  appropriation,  but  gave  the  poor  man  his  own  coat 
and  two  guineas  by  way  of  consolation.  In  this  dress  he 
stopped  at  an  inn  in  the  near  vicinity  of  Dublin,  ordered  a  din¬ 
ner,  and  commanded  the  ostler  to  saddle  the  two  best  horses  in 
the  stable.  As  no  one  doubted  that  he  was  what  he  appear¬ 
ed,  the  animals  were  made  ready,  and  the  two  robbers  reached 
Dublin  that  evening.  They  engaged  lodgings  at  an  excel¬ 
lent  inn,  and  in  the  course  of  a  few  days  obtained  such  ap¬ 
parel  as  befitted  their  purpose.  Morever,  they  forged  letters 
of  introdu*  tion  to  the  widow,  and  thus  prepared  Martin  set 
out  on  his  enterprise,  leaving  Doherty  in  the  city. 

Our  hero  stated  himself  to  be  a  man  of  large  property,  and 
his  suit  prospered :  in  less  than  a  fortn  ght  the  widow  consented 
to  make  him  happy.  He  invited  her  to  visit  his  family  in 
Dublin,  and  she  set  off  accordingly,  in  her  own  carriage,  with 
three  lackeys.  In  the  meanwhile  Doherty  had  prepared 
matters  for  her  reception.  He  had  hired  a  number  of  per¬ 
sons  who  were  to  pass  for  Martin’s  relatives,  and  he  himself 
was  to  act  the  father.  The  widow  remained  in  the  house  but 
a  day  before  she  declared  herself  anxious  to  visit  her  friends 
in  the  city,  which  had  she  done,  the  plot  would  have  been 
frustrated.  Our  hero,  therefore,  persuaded  her  rather  to  re¬ 
turn  home.  Having  obtained  the  consent  of  his  pretended 
father  and  mother  to  their  union,  he  departed  with  her,  and 
remained  at  her  house  four  days. 

On  the  fifth  day,  as  he  was  walking  with  the  lady,  a  pedlar 
who  knew  him  arrived,  and  asked  one  of  the  servants  why  his 
mistress  was  walking  with  that  rascal.  He  told  the  servant, 


132 


MICHAEL  MARTIN. 


beside,  our  hero’s  true  name,  as  well  as  that  he  was  a  notorious 
highwayman,  and  a  comrade  of  Captain  Thunderbolt.  As 
soon  as  Captain  Lightfoot  saw  the  pedlar  he  knew  him,  and 
would  have  bribed  him  to  secrecy,  but  it  was  too  late.  When 
the  lady  came  back  to  the  house,  a  great  uproar  ensued.  She 
was  greatly  scandalized,  and  sent  for  the  police.  Before  they 
arrived,  however,  Captain  Lightfoot  had  made  himself  invis¬ 
ible.  , 

On  his  return  to  Dublin  he  heard  that  his  comrade  had 
attracted  suspicion,  whereupon  they  changed  their  abode  and 
lay  perdue  some  days.  Then,  hearing  of  a  wedding  about  to 
take  place,  they  went  thither,  Martin  disguised  as  a  female, 
and  Doherty  as  his  attendant.  On  their  arrival  at  the  house, 
they  went  in  with  the  crowd  unquestioned,  no  one  thinking  to 
ask  whether  they  were  invited  or  not.  Martin  sustained  his 
part  very  well,  spoke  little,  and  kept  his  face  covered  with  his 
veil.  After  supper  money  was  collected  for  the  priests,  and 
Captain  Thunderbolt  contributed  liberally.  So  far  their  frolic 
was  innocent,  but  it  was  now  to  assume  another  character. 

They  left  the  house  early,  and  as  they  stepped  over  the 
threshold  discovered  that  four  priests  were  about  to  depart  in 
a  carriage,  attended  by  one  servant  only.  This  was  a  tempt¬ 
ation  they  could  not  withstand.  They  proceeded  about  a  mile, 
and  lay  in  wait  for  the  carriage.  When  it  came  up,  Doherty 
seized  the  reins,  while  Martin  compelled  the  driver  to  vacate 
his  seat.  When  asked  for  their  valuables,  one  of  the  priests 
demanded  if  they  were  robbers,  to  which  Doherty  replied  that 
they  had  the  honor  to  exercise  that  employment.  They  gave 
up  their  money  quietly,  one  of  them  at  the  same  time  remon¬ 
strating  and  suggesting  the  immorality  of  the  procedure. 
Doherty  told  the*  speaker  that  he  would  take  some  opportunity 
to  hear  him  in  his  chapel,  as  that  was  not  precisely  the  time 
or  place  for  a  sermon.  The  spoil  amounted  to  sixty  guineas. 

On  their  return  to  the  house  where  they  had  dressed,  they 
found  it  surrounded  by  a  concourse  of  people,  soldiers  and 
others.  As  they  approached,  they  were  discovered,  and  pur¬ 
sued  with  hue  and  cry.  The  soldiers  fired  on  them,  and  Do¬ 
herty  plunged  into  a  river;  but  Martin  preferred  to  trust  to  his 
feet  on  dry  land.  He  ran  till  he  had  distanced  all  his 
pursuers,  and  then  lay  down  to  sleep  in  the  woods.  The  next 
day,  as  he  travelled  he  knew  not  whither,  he  came  to  a  place 
where  some  peasants  were  at  work  in  a  field.  They  had  thrown 
off  their  outer  garments  by  the  road  side,  and  our  hero  availed 
himself  of  the  opportunity  to  change  his  dress,  leaving  a  half 


MICHAEL  MARTIN. 


133 


guinea  for  the  owner  of  what  he  took  ar  ,ay.  Nevertheless 
the  peasants,  who  saw  what  he  had  done,  pursued  him  with 
much  clamor,  but  did  not  overtake  him.  He  then  remained 
concealed  in  some  bushes  two  days,  with  no  other  sustenance 
than  fair  water. 

At  last  he  left  his  hiding  place,  and  inquired  the  way  to  the 
capital  of  some  poor  peasants.  For  four  days  he  remained 
tranquil  in  a  paltry  inn,  five  miles  from  Dublin,  and  then  started 
for  the  city  once  more.  On  the  way  he  met  an  old  physician 
he  had  formerly  known,  riding  in  a  chaise  with  a  little  boy  by 
his  side.  Martin  picked  up  a  great  stone,  and  seizing  the 
horse  by  the  reins,  swore  he  would  beat  out  the  old  man’s 
brains  on  the  spot  unless  he  instantly  gave  up  his  money. 
The  doctor  was  frightened  and  delivered  his  pocket  book, 
glad  to  escape  so.  Our  hero  told  him  his  name  was  David 
Brimstone,  and  threatened  to  throw  the  stone  at  him  unless 
he  drove  on  with  all  speed.  The  old  gentleman  took  the 
hint,  and  they  parted. 

Michael  Martin  reached  the  city  without  farther  adventure, 
and  heard,  on  his  arrival,  thatx  Doherty  had  stolen  a  purse  at 
the  theatre  a  few  nights  before.  Captain  Lightfoot  next  pro¬ 
vided  himself  with  pistols,  and  made  the  tour  of  all  the  taverns 
in  search  of  his. comrade .  At  one  tavern  he  heard  some  people 
reading  an  advertisement  concerning  Captain  Thunderbolt, 
and  one  said  he  had  been  traced  to  near  Kilkenny.  Presently 
their  attention  seemed  to  be  directed  toward  our  hero,  and 
they  began  to  whisper.  Nevertheless,  he  put  a  bold  face  on 
the  matter,  paid  for  his  drink,  and  walked  coolly  out.  While 
in  the  entry,  he  heard  such  remarks  as  induced  him  to  hurry 
up  stairs.  He  got  upon  the  housetop,  and  made  ready  to  meet 
whosoever  might  come.  At  last  he  ventured  down,  and  met 
a  girl  in  one  of  the  upper  rooms  with  a  light  in  her  hand. 
Supposing  him  to  be  one  of  the  family,  she  suffered  him  to 
take  the  light  and  descended  the  stairs.  He  then  took  off  his 
coat  and  powdered  his  clothes  and  head  with  some  flour  that 
he  found  in  a  box,  and  went  down.  There  were  many  people 
about  the  door,  but  he  passed  boldly  through  them,  pretending 
to  be  lame.  He  then  took  the  road  to  Kilkenny. 

In  the  morning  he  rested  several  hours  at  a  tavern,  and  then 
calling  for  breakfast,  was  answered  that  they  did  not  use  to 
entertain  highwaymen.  This  made  him  believe  that  he  had 
been  traced,  and  he  departed.  Before  he  had  gone  many 
yards,  however,  he  was  aware  of  half  a  dozen  men  in  full  pur¬ 
suit.  He  distanced  them  all,  and  slept  that  night  in  the  woods. 


134 


MICHAEL  MARTIN. 


At  Castle  Dermot,  near  Kilkenny,  Martin  heard  that 
Captain  Thunderbolt  had  lately  robbed  a  nobleman,  and  that 
there  had  been  a  hot  pursuit  after  him.  In  this  neighbourhood 
he  saw  many  who  recognised  him,  though  he  had  colored  his 
hair,  painted  his  fhce,  and  wore  a  great  patch  over  his  eye. 
Yet  no  attempt  was  made  to  arrest  him;  and  he  constantly  met 
some  of  the  United  Irishmen,  who  would  have  protected  him. 
One  day  he  heard  some  persons  talking  familiarly  about  his 
associate.  In  order  to  discover  his  retreat,  Martin  stated 
that  he  was  a  constable,  and  offered  a  large  reward  to  any 
one  who  would  tell  him  where  Captain  Thunderbolt  might 
be  found.  When  he  left  the  room  an  old  man  followed 
him,  and  giving  the  private  signal,  offered  to  show  him 
where  the  robber  lay  concealed  without  any  reward.  Mar¬ 
tin  followed  the  ancient  three  miles,  to  a  little  hut,  where 
he  found  Doherty  and  passed  the  night  drinking  with  him. 

In  the  time  they  had  been  separated  the  elder  robber  had 
labored  diligently  in  his  calling,  having  collected  upwards 
of  six  hundred  pounds,  beside  watches  and  jewels. 

In  the  morning  they  set  out  on  foot  for  the  north  of  Ireland, 
intending  to  pass  over  into  Scotland  if  unsuccessful  in  that 
quarter.  Their  present  object  was  to  obtain  horses,  for  which 
an  opportunity  presented  itself  on  the  third  day.  They  met 
a  gentleman  alone  on  a  beautiful  horse,  and  our  hero  com¬ 
pelled  him  to  stop,  saying  he  wanted  to  rob  him.  A  servant 
then  appeared,  coming  to  his  relief,  but  Doherty  threatened 
the  man  with  instant  death  if  he  advanced  an  inch,  and  he 
stopped.  The  gentleman  gave  up  his  purse  and  watch,  but 
at  the  same  time  observed  that  he  thought  the  money  was 
enough  for  them  and  he  would  be  glad  to  retain  his  timepiece. 
'Martin  replied  that  the  watch  was  much  too  pretty  for  him, 
and  that  he  wanted  such  a  one  for  his  wife.  The  sufferer  then 
asked,  very  politely,  if  Doherty  was  not  identical  with  Cap¬ 
tain  Thunderbolt;  to  which  the  robber  replied  in  the  afftrma-. 
tive.  The  highwaymen  compelled  the  master  and  servant 
both  to  dismount,  and  rode  away  on  their  horses  to  a  spot 
where  they  buried  their  plunder. 

In  four  days  they  reached  l.isburne  in  the  county  of  An¬ 
trim,  without  having  committed  any  crime  by  the  way.  Hav¬ 
ing  received  some  affront  from  the  master  of  the  inn  where  they 
put  up,  they  exchanged  their  tired  horses  for  fresh  ones  from 
his  stable,  in  revenge,  and  set  off' for  Belfast. 

Meeting  an  old  man  riding  alone  in  a  sorry  chaise,  Doher-  * 
tv  asked  him  the  way  to  Belfast,  and  received  a  churlish  ans- 


MICHAEL  MARTIN. 


135 


wer.  Provoked  at  this,  Martin  pulled  out  a  pistol  and  deman¬ 
ded  his  money.  Thunderbolt  persuaded  his  companion  to 
desist,  and  the  old  man  hurried  on,  threatening  to  send  a 
party  of  soldiers  after  them  immediately.  Martin  became  en¬ 
raged,  followed  him  half  a  mile,  and  bade  him  give  up  every¬ 
thing  he  had.  The  ancient  begged  for  time, — and  his  life. 
Martin  dismounted,  cut  his  reins,  and  tied  his  own  horse  to 
the  chaise.  He  then  mounted  into  the  vehicle,  took  the  old 
man  by  the  throat,  and  plundered  him  of  an  hundred  and  fifty 
pounds.  After  this  cruel  action  he  joined  his  companion, 
and  they  reached  Belfast  the  same  day. 

Here  they  prowled  for  prey  to  no  purpose.  Tired  of  this, 
they  chartered  a  small  vessel  for  Scotland,  and  embarked  with 
their  horses.  A  gale  kept  them  in  the  Irish  Channel  two 
days,  after  which  they  reached  Preswick  in  safety. 

They  next  went  to  Glasgow,  where  Captain  Thunderbolt 
endeavoured  to  sell  several  estates  he  said  he  possessed  in  Ire¬ 
land.  Though  he  exhibited  the  title  deeds,  and  gave  referen¬ 
ces  to  imaginary  persons,  he  did  not  succeed  in  effecting  any 
bargain.  They  remained  in  the  city  three  weeks. 

They  were  one  day  aivare  that  a  gentleman  with  whom 
Doherty  had  become  acquainted  was  about  to  ride  to  his 
country  seat,  and  resolved  to  rob  him.  After  following  him 
seveial  miles  they  came  to  a  spot  favorable  to  their  purpose, 
and  Doherty  rode  up  to  him,  requesting  to  borrow  a  few  shil¬ 
lings.  The  gentleman  called  him  a  rascal  and  bade  him  be¬ 
gone.  “  You  rascal,”  said  the  highwayman,  u  stand  still — 
or  I’ll  blow  the  head  from  your  shoulders.”  The  frightened 
gentleman  asked  how  much  would'  satisfy  him,  and  was  ans¬ 
wered  by  Martin  u  all  he  had.”  He  gave  up  his  purse,  which 
was  but  light,  but  they  dared  not  stay  to  examine  him.  He 
asked  the  robbers  if  the  elder  was  not  John  Doherty.  Do¬ 
herty  replied  that  that  had  been  his  name,  but  that  his  com¬ 
rade  had  given  him  a  new  one — Captain  Thunderbolt.  The 
gentleman  then  declared  himself  to  have  been  one  of  Doher¬ 
ty’s  schoolfellows,  and  gave  the  robber  much  good  advice. 
He  promised,  that  if  permitted  to  retain  his  watch,  he  would 
never  expose  his  school-mate,  and  was  in  consequence  suffer¬ 
ed  to  keep  it. 

The  highwaymen  rambled  about  the  country  several  weeks 
without  getting  any  opportunity  to  increase  their  possessions, 
and  found,  moreover,  that  they  were  viewed  with  suspicion. 
Advertisements  regarding  them  had  found  their  way  over  from 
the  sister  kingdom.  To  add  to  their  danger  Doherty  was 


136 


MICHAEL  MARTIN. 


well  known  in  Scotland.  For  all  these  reasons,  Captain 
Thunderbolt  thought  it  advisable  to  disguise  his  person  as 
much  as  possible.  But  wherever  they  went,  Captain  Thun¬ 
derbolt  was  recognised  by  some  person  or  other.  Near  the 
mouth  of  the  river  Clyde  they  fell  in  with  a  party  of  dragoons 
who  pursued  them  five  miles,  and  at  last  pressed  them  so  hard 
that  they  were  obliged  to  swim  the  river.  Martin  got  safely 
over,  but  Doherty’s  horse  sunk  under  him,  so  that  he  was  com¬ 
pelled  to  abandon  the  animal  and  swim  for  his  life.  As  soon 
as  he  reached  the  shore  he  mounted  behind  our  hero,  and 
they  continued  to  ride  in  this  manner  two  days.  At  last  the 
horse  was  exhausted  with  fatigue,  and  they  left  him,  to  go 
on  foot  toward  the  river  Dee. 

Finding  himself  so  well  known,  Doherty  determined  on 
another  course.  He  bought  a  small  stock  of  medicines, 
and  travelled  in  the  character  of  an  itinerant  physician,  Mar¬ 
tin  attending  him  as  an  apprentice.  By  dint  of  impudence, 
Doherty  succeeded  in  picking  up  some  money.  He  used, 
when  speaking  of  his  own  skill,  to  say  he  particularly  excell¬ 
ed  in  bleeding ,  and  that  Martin  was  fast  learning  the  same  art. 
Thus  they  avoided  suspicion,  and  lived  in  an  inoffensive,  if  not 
an  honest  and  honorable  manner.  Our  hero  was  more  than 
once  tempted  to  adhere  to  his  new  profession,  but  the  argu¬ 
ments  of  his  preceptor,  and,  perhaps,  his  own  evil  propensi¬ 
ties,  were  too  strong  for  him. 

When  they  became  weary  of  this  mode  of  life,  our  quacks 
resolved  to  return  to  Ireland,  and  took  Glasgow  in  their  way. 
They  remained  in  this  city  some  days. 

One  evening  seeing  a  person  of  respectable  appearance 
in  the  street.,  they  followed  him  to  a  lonely  street  where  they 
took  him  by  the  throat  and  told  him  to  deliver.  He  did  as  he 
was  commanded. 

The  next  night  they  went  on  board  a  small  vessel  that  was 
lying  at  one  of  the  wharves.  There  were  but  two  men  on 
board,  both  fast  asleep.  The  villains  awakened  and  com¬ 
manded  them  to  make  sail  for  Bangor.  They  excused  them¬ 
selves  by  saying  that  the  master  was  absent,  and  they  dared 
not  sail  without  him.  Doherty,  however,  compelled  them  to 
do  as  he  wished,  and  Martin  cast  the  fast  loose.  The  morning 
after  the  vessel  arrived  at  Bangor. 

The  robbers  paid  the  seamen  for  their  trouble,  and  started 
for  Dublin.  The  second  night  they  got  into  a  stable.  They 
found  two  grooms  asleep,  of  whom  they  bound  one,  and  obliged 
the  other  to  saddle  and  bridle  the  two  best  horses.  This  done, 
they  repaired  to  Dublin,  injuring  no  one  by  the  way. 


MICHAEL  MARTIN. 


137 


After  having  committed  some  petty  thefts,  they  saw  a  stage 
about  to  start  for  Kilkenny,  and  Martin  proposed  to  follow 
and  rob  it.  Contrary  to  his  wont,  Doherty  was  backward, 
thinking  it  too  hazardous  to  attack  a  coach  full  of  passengers 
on  an  open  and  much  frequented  road  in  broad  day-light. 
Martin,  however,  was  not  to  be  deterred:  he  followed  the 
stage  alone,  and  when  he  overtook  it,  cut  four  trunks  from 
behind.  He  then  returned,  picking  them  up,  one  by  one, 
from  where  they  had  dropped,  and  carried  them  into  a  field 
His  disappointment  was  great  at  finding  nothing  m  them  but 
wearing  apparel.  In  his  anger  he  strewed  the  clothes  about 
under  a  tree,  on  which  he  next  hung  a  red  handkerchief  by 
way  of  auction  flag.  He  then  wrote  a  notice  purporting  that 
all  these  articles  were  to  be  sold  there  the  next  day  at  auction. 
He  posted  this  notice  on  a  tree  and  walked  off. 

He  soon  came  to  a  large  house,  the  owner  of  which  was 
standing  at  the  door.  Martin  asked  him  for  a  draught  of  beer, 
and  was  bidden  to  go  to  the  next  ale  house  and  buy  it.  Our 
hero  then  demanded  what  auction  was  to  take  place  in  the 
adjoining  field.  The  man  said  he  had  no  knowledge  of  any, 
and  refused  to  believe  what  the  robber  said  he  had  seen. 
Finally,  Martin  offered  to  guide  him  to  the  place,  and  after 
doing  so  left  him  under  the  tree.  The  remainder  of  the  affair 
he  heard  afterward. 

Scarcely  had  Martin  left  the  spot  when  the  people  of  the 
stage,  who  by  this  time  had  discovered  their  loss,  came  back. 
Seeing  the  trunks  open  on  the  ground  and  the  gentleman 
examining  their  contents,  they  seized  him  as  the  thief,  beat 
him,  bound  him  hand  and  foot,  and  carried  him  before  a  mag¬ 
istrate.  This  person  knew  the  gentleman,  and  was  certain 
that  there  was  some  mistake.  Accordingly  an  investigation 
took  place,  and  the  prisoner  was  discharged. 

When  our  hero  got  back  to  Dublin,  he  found  Doherty  ab¬ 
sent,  and  never  saw  him  more.  This  Paul  Clifford  of  real 
life  was  a  Scot  by  birth.  Subsequently,  Martin  heard  that  he 
had  left  Ireland  with  his  ill  earned  wealth,  in  safety,  and  that 
he  had  gone  to  the  West  Indies  and  engaged  in  reputable 
business.  What  became  of  him  eventually,  we  have  no 
means  of  ascertaining. 

Having  spent  much  time  in  a  vain  search  for  his  associate, 
our  hero  went  to  the  famous  fair  of  Donnybrook,  where  he 
participated  in  the  jollity  and  cracking  of  crowns  for  which 
the  place  is  proverbial.  He  left  it  in  a  jaunting-car  which 
he  had  stolen  with  two  females,  with  whom  he  rode  about  the 


138 


MICHAEL  MARTIN. 


country  several  days.  When  he  was  tired  of  their  company 
he  put  them  into  a  stage  bound  for  Dublin  and  bade  them 
farewell.  He  then  sold  the  horse  and  car  a  id  walked  back 
to  Dublin,  committing  only  one  robbery  on  the  way.  His 
next  adventure  was  a  bold  one,  no  less  than  robbing  the  Lord 
.Lieutenant  of  Ireland. 

He  learned  from  a  maid  servant  of  this  dignitary  with 
whom  he  had  contracted  an  intimacy,  that  he  possessed  a  snuff 
box  richly  ornamented  with  jewels.  He  also  discovered  that 
the  Lord  Lieutenant  was  in  the  habit  of  walking  very  early  in 
his  garden,  alone.  By  bribing  the  gardener  he  got  access  to 
the  garden  the  first  fair  morning.  He  had  not  waited  long 
before  he  saw  the  nobleman  approaching,  who  presently  sat 
down  on  a  bench  by  the  side  of  a  fish  pond.  Martin  walked 
up  to  him  with  a  cocked  pistol,  and — u  your  money  or  your 
life.”  The  following  dialogue  ensued. 

Lord  Lieut.  Did  you  speak  to  me. 

Martin.  Yes,  plase  yere  honor. 

Lord.  You  impudent  rascal,  what  do  you  want?  Get  you 
gone  or  F  11  have  your  skin  taken  off. 

Mar.  Plase  yere  honor  I  must  first  skin  yere  pockets — and 
if  ye  offer  to  make  the  laste  noise — and  if  ye  don’t  be  after 
giving  me  less  of  yere  blarney,  I’  11  take  yere  life. 

The  nobleman  surrendered  a  heavy  purse  and  would  then 
have  gone  away,  but  our  hero  desired  him  to  stay  awhile,  for 
he  had  only  begun  with  him.  The  next  demand  was  for  his 
watch  and  diamond  ring.  The  nobleman  entreated  that  these 
might  be  spared,  as  he  set  a  higher  value  on  them  than  their 
price  in  money.  He  even  offered  to  deposit  any  ransom  in 
any  place  Martin  might  appoint.  The  robber  asked  if  the 
Lord  Lieutenant  thought  him  fool  enough  to  expose  himself 
to  detection  by  going  after  it.  However,  he  finally  suffered 
him  to  retain  the  ring.  As  he  was  about  to  depart,  he  asked 
the  Lord  Lieutenant  for  a  pinch  of  snuff,  a  desire  that  was 
readily  granted,  and  the  robber  gained  an  opportunity  to  snatch 
the  jewelled  snuffbox.  Martin  then  told  the  noble  that  he 
had  got  enough,  and  advised  him  to  say  little  about  the  matter, 
or  he  would  visit  him  again.  The  Lord  Lieutenant  said  he 
was  sorry  such  a  young  man  should  be  a  robber,  and  advised 
him  to  sin  no  more.  The  highwayman  renlb*d  that  it  was  his 
vocation,  and  that  at  any  rate  he  had  only  treated  his  adviser 
as  his  adviser’s  countrymen  treated  the  Irish.  His  excellency 
then  asked  his  name,  and  was  informed  that  it  was  Captain 
Lightfoot.  “  Ah,”  said  he,  “  and  where  is  your  comrade 


MICHAEL  MARTIN. 


139 


Thunderbolt  ?”  Martin  replied  that  he  was  absent  on  business, 
and  that  he  should  come  to  sup  with  the  Lord  Lieutenant  if 
the  latter  said  anything  about  what  had  passed.  Martin  was 
then  urged  to  enter  the  house  and  drink,  but  declined  the  in¬ 
vitation  and  made  haste  to  escape,  as  he  saw  some  servants 
entering  the  garden.  He  retreated  backward,  always  holding 
fast  his  pistol,  to  the  garden  wall.  While  he  was  scaling  the 
wall  the  Lord  Lieutenant  gave  the  alarm,  and  the  servants 
came  running  after  him.  Nevertheless  he  escaped  by  swim¬ 
ming  over  the  Liffey 

In  four  days  he  reached  Kilkenny,  where  he  found  that  an 
advertisement  had  arrived  containing  an  account  of  his  late 
robbery  and  a  description  of  his  person.  He  immediately 
buried  his  watches  and  the  greater  part  of  his  money,  and  then 
'  disguised  himself  as  a  beggar.  A  stolen  horse  conveyed  him 
speedily  to  Waterford,  where  he  took  passage  in  a  ship  bound 
for  New  York,  under  the  name  of  Michael  O’Hanlan. 

The  provisions  and  water  failing,  the  master  of  the  ship 
resolved  to  put  into  seme  port  in  the  colonies,  instead  of  pro¬ 
ceeding  to  New  York.  This  change  of  destination  was,  for 
obvious  reasons  unpleasing  to  Martin,  and  he  brought  about 
a  mutiny  among  the  seamen  and  passengers  of  whom  there 
were  more  than  an  hundred  on  board.  Our  hero  seized  and 
disarmed  the  captain  with  his  own  hands,  and  there  was  a  bat¬ 
tle  royal  for  some  minutes.  Finally  the  master  was  con¬ 
strained  to  succumb,  and  the  vessel  arrived  at  Salem  on  the 
seventeenth  of  June  eighteen  hundred  and  nineteen. 

After  spending  all  his  money  Martin  hired  himself  to  Mr. 
E.  H.  Derby,  to  work  on  a  farm.  He  remained  in  this  gen¬ 
tleman’s  employ  over  a  year,  behaving,  for  him,  very  well. 
When  he  had  money,  it  is  true,  he  spent  it  in  liquor,  and  at 
such  times  was  lazy  and  quarrelsome.  The  demon  of  drink 
at  last  proved  too  strong  for  him,  and  Mr.  Derby  was  com¬ 
pelled  to  discharge  him.  During  this  period  he  learned  that 
his  father  was  dead,  and  exhibited  a  sorrow  that  would  hardly 
have  been  expected  from  such  a  person. 

He  had,  it  seems,  formed  the  resolution  to  become  an  hon¬ 
est  man,  and  after  leaving  Mr.  Derby  engaged  in  the  service 
of  a  brewer.  Here  his  worst  conduct  consisted  in  drunken¬ 
ness  and  gaming.  In  a  few  weeks  he  received  a  letter  from' 
his  brother  containing  four  hundred  dollars;  his  share  of  his 
father’s  property.  With  this  money  he  took  a  lease  of  a  small 
brewery ’in  Portsmouth,  New  Hampshire,  hired  workmen 
and  began  to  live  reputably.  He  dealt  largely  in  beer  and 


140 


MICHAEL  MARTIN. 


porter,  but  found  the  people  too  acute  for  him  in  the  way  of 
bargaining.  Becoming*  dissatisfied  thereat  he  returned  to  his 
former  habits  of  dissipation,  and  soon  became  a  bankrupt. 
This  was  the  end  of  his  attempt  to  be  honest:  he  hired  a  horse 
and  chaise  and  took  the  road  to  Canada.  On  the  way,  in  Ver¬ 
mont,  he  robbed  a  Connecticut  pedlar  of  seventy  dollars.  At 
first  the  man  resisted,  but  Martin  beat  him  from  his  cart  and 
easily  overpowered  him.  He  justified  this  action  in  a  rather 
singular  manner.  He  took  it  for  granted  that  the  pedlar  had 
obtained  his  cash  by  cheating  honest  men,  which  was  proba¬ 
bly  the  case,  and  thought  that  the  money  would  be  in  better 
keeping  for  the  transfer.  This  was  the  only  crime  he  commit¬ 
ted  on  the  road  to  Quebec. 

In  this  city  he  sold  his  horse  and  chaise,  bought  a  quaker 
dress  and  pistols,  made  inquiries  touching  the  roads,  and  laid 
plans  for  the  perpetration  of  new  robberies.  He  went  to 
Trois  Rivieres  and  put  up  at  the  house  of  a  Frenchman, 
where  he  fell  sick  and  remained  two  days.  Here  the  kind¬ 
ness  of  his  host  won  so  far  on  him,  that  he  left  the  house 
without  doing  any  mischief. 

The  day  he  left  Trois  Rivieres  he  met  two  well  dressed 
gentlemen  in  a  chaise.  He  halted  in  the  road,  and  when  the 
vehicle  came  up  asked  the  time  of  day.  The  man  nighest  to 
him  took  out  a  valuable  watch,  and  at  the  sight  of  it  the  pre¬ 
tended  quaker  presented  a  pistol  and  ordered  him  to  give  it 
up.  The  man  complied,  but  his  companion  stammered  in 
broken  English  and  pretended  not  to  understand.  Martin, 
enraged  at  this,  snatched  the  reins  and  swore  to  kill  them  uth 
unless  they  complied  with  his  demands.  After  speakir^;  to 
each  other  in  French,  they  surrendered  their  pocket-books 
and  Watches,  one  of  which  Martin  returned,  saying  it  was  not 
worth  the  trouble  of  carrying.  He  then  restored  the  reins 
and  bade  them  farewell.  The  next  day  he  robbed  an  old  gen¬ 
tleman  of  thirty-five  dollars.  The  next  person  he  met  was  a 
Frenchman,  on  a  fine  horse.  The  robber  stopped  him  with 
the  usual  formalities.  The  man  surrendered  a  pocket-book 
containing  three  dollars  only,  but  the  robber  was  not  content 
and  ordered  the  traveller  to  dismount.  He  excused  himself 
by  saying  the  horse  was  a  borrowed  one,  and  that  he  should 
lose  his  character  by  parting  with  it.  Martin  replied  that  he 
had  better  lose  his  character  than  his  life.  The  Frenchman 
turned  his  beast’s  head,  and  would  have  escaped  had  not  our 
hero  discharged  a  pistol.  The  poor  man  fell  from  his  steed 
thinking  himself  dead,  and  when  Martin  came  up  with  him 


MICHAEL  MARTIN. 


141 


begged  his  life.  The  robber  compelled  him  to  buckle  the 
spurs  to  his  feet,  gave  him  a  dollar  for  his  pains,  and  rode 
off. 

Martin  now  divested  himself  of  his  quaker  apparel  and 
thus  escaped  suspicion  on  his  way  to  Montreal.  He  heard 
many  inquiries  concerning  a  quaker,  but  no  one  thought  of  ar¬ 
resting  him. 

Finding  no  opportunity  to  fill  his  purse  at  Montreal,  our 
hero  started  for  Kingston  in  Upper  Canada.  On  the  road  he 
met  an  Indian,  probably  of  the  St.  Regis  tribe,  riding  alone 
in  a  chaise.  The  man  was  well  clad  and  had  many  orna¬ 
ments  about  him.  When  the  highwayman  demanded  his  ef¬ 
fects  he  tried  to  snatch  the  presented  pistol,  but  failed*in  the 
attempt.  He  then  gave  up  his  ornaments  and  sixty-five  dollars 
in  cash.  This  done,  he  proposed  to  the  robber  to  throw  down" 
his  weapon,  and  he  would  fight  him  for  the  money.  Martin 
attempted  to  explain  to  him  the  Irish  mode  of  fighting,  and 
used  the  word  shillelah.  The  Indian  understood  the  term 
and  knew  the  robber  for  an  Irishman  at  once.  He  did  more 
— he  consented  to  fight  on  Martin’s  own  terms.  Our  hero 
agreed,  and  told  him  to  wait  till  he  could  cut  a  stick.  With 
that  he  spurred  his  horse  into  the  bushes.  Suspecting  that 
he  was  about  to  escape,  the  savage  pursued  with  whoop  and 
halloo,  and  in  less  than  a  minute  Martin  had  the  pleasure  to 
see  a  score  of  Indians  running  after  him.  He  spurred  on  to 
the  bank  of  a  river,  where  he  stopped  and  dismounted  to  give 
his  horse  breath.  While  he  stood  thus  an  Indian  came  upon 
him  out  of  the  bushes,  before  he  had  time  to  mount  his  horse, 
and  threw  a  large  stone  at  him  with  all  his  might.  While  he 
was  stooping  for  another  Martin  shot  him  through  the  body, 
mounted  his  horse,  and  escaped.  He  never  knew  whether 
the  savage  was  killed  or  not:  if  he  was,  it  was  the  first  and 
last  murder  he  ever  committed. 

After  rambling  about  the  country  some  days  Michael  di¬ 
rected  his  course  toward  Kingston  again.  While  he  was 
resting  at  a  small  tavern  a  British  officer  rode  up  and  behaved 
in  a  very  insolent  manner.  There  was,  perhaps,  some  excuse 
for  it  in  Martin’s  appearance,  for  his  beard  was  long  and  his 
raiment  rather  shabby.  Be  that  as  it  may,  when  our  hero 
asked  him  the  way  to  Kingston  he  was  answered  with  abuse. 
What  followed  may  be  a  lesson  to  such  persons,  showing  that 
no  advantage  arises  from  incivility. 

Having  ascertained  from  the  landlord  what  road  the  soldier 
meant  to  take,  Michael  started  in  advance,  and  lay  in  wait  for 


142 


MICHAEL  MARTIN. 


him  by  the  road  side  till  dark.  When  he  came  up,  the  foot¬ 
pad  commanded  him  to  stop  in  a  loud  voice,  and  seized  the 
reins  of  his  horse.  “Now,  master  Lobster,”  said  Martin, 
“dismount  instantly.”  He  obeyed  and  gave  up  a  few  pieces 
of  money,  which  Michael  threw  away  with  huge  disdain.  The 
soldier  begged  his  life  in  the  most  abject  manner,  making  it 
apparent  that  his  cowardice  was  fully  equal  to  his  insolence. 
Martin  asked  him  why  he  did  not  defend  himself  with  the 
pistols  in  his  holsters,  but  he  replied  very  submissively  that 
he  never  fired  at  gentlemen.  The  robber  then  stripped  him, 
tied  him  to  a  tree,  and  left  him,  threatening  to  return  and 
shoot  him  if  he  made  the  least  noise.  Martin  then  mounted 
the  (Cheer’s  horse  and  rode  away.  At  the  first  stream  to 
which  he  came  he  tied  the  soldier’s  uniform  to  a  large  stone 
and  sunk  it.  He  now  bent  his  course  toward  Montreal. 

•  One  night  stopping  at  a  farmer’s  house,  he  represented 
himself  as  an  agent  of  a  company  of  immigrants  who  wished 
to  purchase  land,  and  was  directed  to  the  house  of  an  old 
gentleman  who  had  large  tracts  for  sale.  In  the  morning  he 
went  thither,  and  found  the  land  owner  with  a  young  man,  his 
son,  in  his  parlour.  He  was  invited  to  view  the  house 
and  grounds,  and  in  the  course  of  his  walk  discovered  that 
there  were  no  males  in  the  house  excepting  the  persons  before 
mentioned.  Leaving  his  son  writing  in  the  parlour,  the  old 
gentleman  led  Martin  to  an  upper  room  to  see  the  prospect. 
Here  the  highwayman  presented  a  pistol,  and  by  threats  of 
instant  death  compelled  his  host  not  only  to  give  him  what 
money  he  had  in  his  pockets  but  to  tell  him  where  more  might 
be  found.  It  was,  he  said,  in  a  desk  in  the  apartment  next 
to  that  in  which  his  son  was.  Martin  bound  and  gagged  him 
and  then  walked  down  stairs.  Lie  told  the  young  man  that 
he  was  waiting  for  his  father,  and  desired  him  to  bring  his 
horse  in  the  meantime.  While  the  youth  was  gone  to  the 
stable  he  opened  the  desk  and  took  away  an  hundred  and 
seventy  pounds  in  specie.  On  the  son’s  return  Martin  told 
him  that  his  father  desired  to  see  him  up  stairs,  and  as  soon 
as  he  was  out  of  the  room  mounted  his  horse  and  went  off. 

On  his  arrival  at  Montreal  he  fell  into  the  company  of 
gamblers,  whom  he  managed  to  cheat  at  cards,  and  won  two 
hundred  dollars  of  them.  After  this  he  travelled  toward  the 
United  States  and  saw  advertisements  describing  him  at  every 
inn  on  the  road.  At  the  first  tavern  south  of  the  boundary 
line  a  man  overtook  him  who  was  sent  to  stick  up  handbills 
offering  a  reward  for  his  apprehension.  This  person  conversed 


MICHAEL  MARTIN. 


143 


with  him  without  in  the  least  suspecting  his  character,  and 
said  that  he  was  going  through  Vermont  for  the  express 
purpose  of  sticking  up  his  placards.  Martin  told  the  man 
that  he  had  himself  been  robbed  by  the  person  in  question, 
was  in  pursuit  of  him,  and  would  spare  the  other  the  trouble 
of  going  any  farther,  if  he  would  trust  him  with  his  bundle 
of  bills.  The  man  gave  up  his  charge,  with  many  thanks  to 
the  robber  for  his  civility:  Our  hero,  it  will  readily  be  be¬ 
lieved,  lost  no  time  in  destroying  the  dangerous  papers. 

At  Burlington,  Martin  put  up  his  horse  at  an  inn.  On 
entering  the  bar  room  the  first  object  that  met  his  eyes  was 
an  advertisement;  and  he  perceived  that  he  was  closely 
watched.  He  walked  out  at  the  back  door,  so  coolly  as  to 
excite  no  suspicion,  and  gained  the  woods,  judging  it  advisable 
to  leave  his  horse  behind  him.  Avoiding  the  high  roads,  he 
arrived  at  Enfield  in  New  Hampshire,  and  thence  travelled 
with  caution  toward  Boston,  on  foot,  as  he  could  not  get  an 
opportunity  to  steal  a  horse.  His  intention  was  to  embark 
for  the  West  Indies  and  rejoin  his  congenial  spirit  Doherty. 

At  about  eleven  P.  M.  being  between  Boscawen  and 
Concord,  he  heard  the  trampling  of  horses  behind  him,  and 
concealed  himself  in  the  bushes.  Presently  two  men  came 
up  on  horseback,  and  as  the  moon  shone  brightly,  discovered 
him.  One  of  them  approached  him  nearly  and  asked  who  he 
was,  to  which  our  rogue  responded,  u  I  am  the  bold  Doherty.” 
Then  pul'ing  out  a  pistol,  he  offered  the  questioner  the 
alternative  of  losing  his  money  or  his  life.  The  man  gave 
up  his  cash  and  papers,  and  Martin  next  compelled  him  to 
dismount,  in  order,  as  he  said,  that  he  might  ascertain  what 
money  might  be  hid  under  the  saddle.  The  robber  mounted 
and  bade  the  m,an  stand  back  by  the  road  side,  crying  at  the 
same  time  to  a  supposed  accomplice  in  the  bushes  to  take 
care  of  the  prisoner.  He  then  rode  on. 

Two  days  after  he  overtook  a  man  on  horseback,  journey¬ 
ing  to  Newburyport,  and  conversed  very  freely  with  him  on 
the  subject  of  this  last  robbery.  Our  hero  said  he  should  like 
to  detect  the  offender  more  than  anything,  and  that  he  did 
not  consider  himself  safe,  as  he  had  money  about  him.  His 
name,  he  added,  was  Morrison.  The  man  replied  to  this 
that  he  did  not  consider  his  safety  insured  by  a  pistol  that  he 
carried  about  him,  as,  for  aught  he  knew,  there  might  be  a 
gang  of  fifty  robbers  about  the  country.  Finally,  they  agreed 
to  stand  by  each  other  if  attacked. 


144 


MICHAEL  MARTIN. 


While  they  stopped  at  a  brook  that  their  horses  might 
drink,  Michael  put  the  muzzle  of  a  pistol  to  his  companion’s 
head  and  bade  him  deliver.  The  man  gave  up  two  hundred 
dolla.  .  After  threatening  him  with  death  if  he  should  pre¬ 
sume  to  follow,  the  highwayman  departed  and  arrived  that 
night  at  Salisbury.  Here  he  turned  his  horse  loose  in  afield 
and  passed  the  night  in  a  deserted  hut,  for  he  feared  to  enter 
any  house.  In  the  morning  he  started  again. 

By  this  time  he  was  tired  of  riding  on  horseback,  and 
seeing  several  chaises  with  harnesses  standing  near  Salisbury 
church  took  advantage  of  the  opportunity  to  rest  his  wearied 
bones.  Some  rogues  would  have  been  deterred  from  theft  in 
such  circumstances,  by  the  confidence  evidently  reposed  in 
the  honesty  of  the  community  by  the  owners  of  these  vehicles, 
but  it  had  no  effect  on  Michael  Martin.  He  harnessed  his 
horse  to  one  of  the  chaises  unobserved,  (it  was  not  yet  day,) 
and  drove  on  till  noon,  when  he  reached  Newbury  port.  Here 
he  put  up  at  a  tavern,  unsuspected:  the  landlord  had  known 
him  when  a  brewer  at  Portsmouth  and  thought  he  had  come 
from  that  place.  His  first  act  in  Newhuryport  was  to  make 
an  appointment  to  meet  a  girl  with  whom  he  was  acquainted, 
at  nine  o’clock;  his  second,  to  go  to  a  lecture  with  the  bar 
keeper.  He  slipped  out  of  the  church  unobserved  by  his 
companion,  and  sought  in  the  streets  an  opportunity  to  commit 
a  robbery.  It  was  not  long  wanting. 

Meeting  a  well  dressed  man  in  a  narrow  passage,  our 
desperado  asked  him  what  o’clock  it  might  be.  The 
gentleman  asked  him  if  he  had  not  just  heard  the  clock 
strike.  u  Yes,”  replied  Martin,  “  but  if  you  do  not  let  me 
hear  your  watch  strike  I  shall  strike  your  head.”  At  the  sight 
of  the  robber’s  pistol  the  man  gave  up  his  time  piece  and 
forty  dollars  in  cash.  Martin  then  gained  the  tavern,  ordered 
his  horse  and  chaise,  took  up  the.  female  before  mentioned, 
and  reached  Beverly  that  night. 

In  the  morning  he  gave  his  companion  a  considerable  sum 
and  left  her,  promising  to  return  in  three  days.  On  his  arrival 
in  Boston  he  put  up  at  the  Sun  tavern  in  Battery  March 
Street. 

We  now  approach  the  end  of  our  story,  and  of  his  career 
of  crime.  Hearing  that  an  assembly  was  to  take  place  at 
the  house  of  Governor  Brooks  in  Medford,  he  mounted  his 
horse  and  rode  thither.  He  watched  the  house  till  he  saw 
Mr.  Bray,  a  very  respectable  gentleman  of  Boston,  coming 
from  it  in  a  chaise  with  his  lady.  They  took  the  turnpike 


MICHAEL  MARTIN.  145 

road  to  Boston;  and  as  soon  as  they  had  passed  Martin  mount¬ 
ed  his  horse  and  followed. 

He  overtook  the  vehicle  near  the  Ten  Hills  Farm,  presented 
his  pistol  at  Mr.  Bray,  and  demanded  his  money  or  his  life. 
Mr.  Bray  gave  up  his  watch  and  all  the  money  he  had  about 
him,  but  the  robber  did  not  take  his  wife’s  watch,  for,  as  he 
remarked,  he  never  robbed  ladies.  Then  he  went  off  in  a 
contrary  direction  from  Medford,  and  met  a  negro  man  and 
woman  in  a  chaise.  He  compelled  them  to  get  out,  and  went 
back  to  Medford  on  their  horse  himself. 

When  he  stopped  at  the  tavern  he  found  the  town  was  in 
commotion  on  account  of  the  robbery  of  Mr.  Bray,  and  as  he 
perceived  he  was  suspected,  he  rode  slowly  away.  At  the 
end  of  the  town  he  was  challenged,  and  refusing  to  answer, 
the  people  cried  u  stop  thief!  ”  At  this  cry  he  set  off  at  full 
speed;  but  before  he  got  far  one  of  the  stirrup  leathers  gave 
way,  and  he  was  thrown  with  such  violence  as  to  dislocate  his 
shoulder.  He  outran  all  his  pursuers  notwithstanding,  and 
concealed  himself  in  the  woods  where  he  adopted  rather  a 
rough  method  to  bring  his  bones  back  to  their  proper  places. 
He  made  a  line  of  his  suspenders  and  cravat,  tied  one  end  to  a 
tree,  the  other  to  his  wrist,  and  pulled  his  arm  into  place  by 
main  strength.  After  this,  he  took  the  way  to  Albany,  and 
reached  Holliston  in  safety,  by  shunning  houses  and  public 
roads. 

Being  now  tired  of  walking,  he  determined  to  steal  a  horse. 
This  might  easily  be  done,  as  there  were  plenty  of  them  in  the 
fields,  but  it  was  not  so  easy  to  get  a  saddle  and  bridle.  Yet 
he  was  not  discouraged:  at  day -break  he  entered  several 
houses  and  barns,  and  at  last  found  what  he  wanted  in  the 
kitchen  of  a  dwelling  belonging  to  Mr.  Adams.  He  carried 
off  his  plunder  with  no  other  opposition  than  that  of  a  large 
dog,  which  he  killed  on  the  spot  with  a  stone.  He  next 
mounted  a  fine  mare  which  carried  him  to  Springfield.  This 
was  his  last  dishonest  action. 

At  Springfield,  while  our  hero  was  fast  asleep  at  an  inn, 
those  who  had  followed  his  track  to  recover  the  stolen  mare 
came  into  his  apartment  and  apprehended  him  so  suddenly 
that  he  had  no  time  for  resistance.  Unfortunately  for  him,  he 
still  had  Mr.  Bray’s  watch  about  him.  It  was  identified,  and 
he  was  sent  to  Boston  to  take  his  trial  for  highway  robbery. 

On  the  ninth  of  October  eij^iteen  hundred  and  twenty  one, 
he  was  arraigned  at  Cambridge  before  the  Supreme  Judicial 
Court,  and  pleaded  not  guilty.  Nevertheless,  the  testimony 


146 


MICHAEL  MARTIN. 


was  so  clear  that  there  could  be  no  possible  doubt  of  hisgui  t, 
and  he  was  sentenced  to  die  on  a  gibbet  on  the  twenty-second 
of  December;  a  fate  he  had  a  thousand  times  merited.  His 
conduct  during  his  trial  was  firm  and  composed,  and  when  the 
sentence  was  pronounced  he  very  coolly  said,  u  Well,  that  is 
the  worst  you  can  do.” 

On  his  re-commitment  to  the  jail  at  Lechmere  Point,  he 
told  the  officers  he  would  make  every  effort  to  escape,  and 
was  in  consequence  put  in  irons.  They  were,  however,  soon 
taken  off,  the  strength  of  his  dungeon  being  considered  such 
as  to  render  futile  any  attempt  he  might  make.  At  first  he 
showed  no  signs  of  contrition,  as  his  mind  was  wholly  oc¬ 
cupied  in  devising  means  to  liberate  himself,  which  he  hoped 
to  do  by  the  aid  of  a  large  knife  he  had  brought  into  prison 
with  him.  Still  the  obstacles  to  success  were  such  as  would 
have  reduced  most  men  to  despair.  His  cell  was  eight  feet 
wide  and  ten  long,  entirely  of  stone,  and  the  door  was  of  thick 
iron,  well  fastened  with  bolts.  The  entrance  was  only  wide 
enough  to  permit  the  passage  of  one  person  at  a  time,  and  was 
within  two  yards  of  an  outer  door  of  solid  iron.  Moreover 
he  was  fastened  to  a  ring  bolt  in  the  floor,  by  a  chain  rivetted 
round  his  ankle.  This  chain  had  a  branch  attached  to  his 
right  wrist,  and  the  links  were  half  an  inch  in  diameter.  For 
all  this  he  was  no  whit  despondent:  he  made  a  saw  of  his  knife 
and  cut  off  the  foot  chain  at  the  second  link  from  his  ankle, 
in  such  a  manner  that  he  could  join  it  at  pleasure.  He  also 
filed  off  the  rivet  of  his  handcuff,  and  covered  the  interstices 
he  had  made  with  a  compound  of  tallow  and  coal-dust  so  much 
resembling  iron  that  the  daily  examinations  of  the  officers 
were  insufficient  to  discover  them.  Nay,  though  his  irons 
were  once  taken  wholly  off,  the  damage  was  not  discovered. 
Thus  prepared,  he  fixed  on  the  eighth  of  December  for  the 
day  of  escape. 

In  the  morning  Mr.  Coolidge,  the  turnkey,  came  to  make 
his  fire  as  usual,  with  attendants.  He  found  Martin  sitting 
up  vomiting,  and  wrapped  in  a  great  coat.  Coolidge  went,  at 
his  request,  to  bring  him  wine,  and  returned,  but  as  he  did  not 
dismiss  his  followers  our  hero  remained  quiet.  A  little  after, 
the  turnkey  came  again,  alone,  with  the  prisoner’s  breakfast, 
and  was  about  to  depart  when  Martin,  in  a  feeble  voice,  desir¬ 
ed  him  to  pick  up  a  paper  of  tobacco  from  the  floor,  as  he  was 
too  weak  to  do  it  himself.  Coolidfee  complied,  and  while  he  was 
stooping,  Martin  struck  him  down  with  his  chain,  threw  off  his 
great  coat  and  sallied  forth.  A  gate,  constructed  of  a  double 


MICHAEL  MARTIN. 


147 


layer  of  thick  planks  nailed  transversely,  obstructed  his  far¬ 
ther  progress.  It  was  fastened  within  with  a  padlock,  attach¬ 
ed  to  a  very  strong  staple  and  hasp.  The  convict  threw  the 
whole  weight  of  his  body  and  force  of  his  sinews  several  times 
against  it,  retreating  some  yards  each  time  for  the  benefit  of  the 
momentum.  In  the  meanwhile  he  bethought  himself  that  he 
should  have  bound  the  turnkey  in  his  cell,  and  turned  to  do 
so,  but  hearing  the  alarm  given  he  made  one  more  desperate 
leap  at  the  gate.  This  time  lock  and  hinges  gave  way  be¬ 
fore  him,  and  he  ran  for  his  life.  Unluckily  for  him  sever¬ 
al  workmen  were  at  that  moment  passing,  and  they  gave  him 
chase.  Besides,  he  had  been  so  long  confined  that  he  could 
not  run  nearly  as  fast  as  he  was  wont,  and  part  of  his  chain 
remaining  at  his  ankle  impeded  him.  He  was  overtaken 
about  a  hundred  yards  from  the  jail  yard;  and  after  knock¬ 
ing  down  one  or  two  of  his  pursuers  was  overpowered  and 
brought  back.  He  evinced  no  regret  for  what  he  had  done, 
and  said  he  would  take  leave  of  the  prison  again  if  they 
did  not  watch  him  very  closely;  but  he  expressed  deep  sorrow 
for  having  hurt  the  turnkey,  who  had  always  been  kind  to  him 
He  said  he  had  prayed  all  night  that  he  might  only  disable 
and  not  kill  the  man.  There  is  good  authority  for  believing 
that  the  prayers  of  such  as  he  are  of  no  avail,  but  at  any  rate 
Coolidge  was  not  much  injured. 

After  this  he  was  more  heavily  ironed,  and  strictly  guard¬ 
ed.  The  utmost  caution  was  observed  in  opening  the  door 
of  his  cell,  and  he  was  soon  convinced  that  escape  was  impos¬ 
sible.  His  manner  and  sentiments  underwent  a  great  alter¬ 
ation,  and  he  earnestly  desired  the  good  offices  of  the  clergy 
of  his  own  persuasion.  He  expressed  repentance  for  his  evil 
deeds  and  declared  his  belief  that  it  was  better  he  should 
die,  as  an  escape  would  only  have  plunged  him  deeper  in 
crime.  He  evinced  great  distress  at  the  disgrace  his  untimely 
end  would  bring  on  his  family,  and  said  he  was  glad  his  pa¬ 
rents  had  not  lived  to  hear  of  it.  At  the  same  time,  though 
he  showed  no  fear  of  his  approaching  fate,  there  was  no  bra¬ 
vado  in  his  manner.  His  will  would  seem  to  show  that  his 
repentance  was  sincere:  it  began  with  an  avowal  of  his  be¬ 
lief  in  the  tenets  of  the  Roman  Catholic  religion,  and  his  as¬ 
surance  of  acceptance  before  God  through  the  merits  of  the 
blessed  Redeemer.  His  spiritual  comforters  were  appointed 
his  executors,  and  desired  to  restore  all  his  money  and  goods, 
as  far  as  they  would  go,  to  the  persons  he  had  injured.  He 
bequeathed  his  body  to  a  gentleman  of  Boston,  with  a  re- 

7# 


148 


i 

STEPHEN  MERRIL  CLARK. 


quest  that  it  might  be  decently  interred,  and  by  no  means 
given  over  to  the  dissecting  knife.  On  this  subject  he  was 
very  anxious,  and  on  being  told  that  his  remains  should  be 
protected,  said  he  should  die  more  easily  for  the  assurance. 

A  few  days  before  his  execution,  he  wras  asked  by  a  friend 
how  this  world  appeared  to  him.  “  Much,”  said  he,  u  like  a 
clou'1  of  smoke  over  the  city,  to  be  driven  away  by  the  first 
gust.”  On  the  morning  of  the  twenty  second,  he  showed  the 
same  fortitude  and  religious  feeling  that  had  marked  his  con¬ 
versation  since  his  attempt  to  escape.  He  acknowledged  the 
justice  of  bis  sentence,  and  said  he  felt  no  ill  will  against 
any  person  living.  He  was  willing  to  die,  having  placed  his 
confidence  in  God.  When  his  fetters  were  taken  off  he 
walked  about  the  room  in  order  to  recover  the  use  of  his 
limbs,  “  for,”  said  he,  u  I  should  not  like  to  appear  awkward, 
and  I  wish  the  multitude  to  see  that  I  am  not  afraid  to  go 
before  my  God.”  A  few  minutes  before  he  was  led  out  he 
made  a  fervent  prayer,  and  then  adjusted  his  apparel  as  well 
as  his  pinions  would  permit  before  a  looking  glass.  At  the 
place  of  execution  his  demeanor  was  firm,  cheerful  and  re¬ 
signed. 

“  He  died,  as  every  man  should  die. 

Without  display,  without  parade  ; 

Meekly  had  he  bowed  and  prayed, 

As  not  disdaining  priestly  aid, 

Nor  desperate  of  all  hope  on  high.” 


STEPHEN  MERRIL  CLARK. 

This  person  was  a  youth  who  never  attained  the  age  of 
eighteen  years.  He  was  the  son  of  respectable  parents  in 
the  town  of  Newburyport,  where  he  resided  all,  or  the  better 
part  of  his  life.  He  was  a  boy  of  profligate  habits  and  bad 
character.  No  incident  of  his  short  and  evil  life  possesses  the 
smallest  interest,  excepting  the  crime  for  which  he  suffered 
capitally.  We  ask  no  youth  to  be  deterred  from  the  like  of¬ 
fences  by  his  ignominious  death,  for  we  do  not  believe  a  heart 
so  utterly  ignorant  and  depraved  as  his,  beats  within  the 


STEPHEN  MERRIL  CLARK. 


149 


boundaries  of  the  union.  If,  however,  his  story  should  hinder 
one  individual  from  following  the  courses  which  confirmed 
his  natural  hardness  of  heart,  we  shall  have  rendered  a  ser¬ 
vice  to  the  community. 

On  the  morning  of  the  seventeenth  of  August  eighteen  hun¬ 
dred  and  twenty,  Mr.  Fitz,  a  gentleman  who  dwelt  in  Temple 
Street,  Newburyport,  perceived  that  a  barn  belonging  to  Mrs. 
Phoebe  Cross,  about  seventy  yards  from  his  own  house,  was  on 
fire.  This  was  before  day-light.  He  went  to  the  house  of 
Mr.  Frothingham,  opposite  to  the  burning  building,  and  awoke 
the  family.  Scarcely  had  they  escaped  when  their  house 
caught  fire,  and  within  an  hour  was  burnt  to  the  ground.  Two 
more  dwelling  houses  and  five  or  six  other  buildings  were 
also  consumed. 

Many  circumstances  concurred  to  prove  this  conflagration 
to  be  the  work  of  an  incendiary,  and  suspicion  was  strong 
against  Stephen  M.  Clark.  To  shield  him  from  the  conse¬ 
quences,  his  father  sent  him  to  Belfast  in  the  state  of  Maine; 
but  before  he  went  he  told  one  Hannah  Downes  that  he  would 
return  and  set  fire  to  the  town  in  four  different  places.  This 
girl  was  an  inmate  of  a  brothel  kept  by  a  Mrs.  Chase.  As 
soon  as  the  youth  was  found  to  be  missing,  public  indignation 
was  directed  against  these  women,  and  they  were  sent  to  . 
prison  as  lewd  and  lascivious  characters.  Hannah  Downes 
was  discharged  a  week  after,  but  Mrs.  Chase  remained  a 
month,  after  which  she  became  the  servant  of  Mr.  Wade  the 
keeper  of  the  prison,  in  which  capacity  she  behaved  with 
strict  propriety. 

Young  Clark  returned  to  Essex  county  in  September. 
On  the  twenty-second  of  that  month,  as  he  was  passing  by- 
Mr.  Wade’s  house  on  his  way  to  Newburyport,  Mrs.  Chase 
saw  and  recognised  him.  He  was  asked  to  go  in  and  get 
something  to  eat,  a  request  with  which  he  very  unwillingly 
complied,  showing  much  uneasiness.  Mr.  Wade  went  out  for 
awhile,  and  on  his  return  met  Clark,  who  turned  out  of  the 
way  to  avoid  him.  The  jailor  asked  Clark  to  go  with  him, 
and  the  youth  with  some  reluctance  consented.  Mr.  Wade 
took  him  in  his  chaise  to  the  office  of  Mr.  Woart,  a  magis¬ 
trate  of  Newburyport.  On  the  way,  the  youth  told  Mr.  W ade 
that  he  came  from  Belfast  by  the  way  of  Boston. 

Mr.  Woart  sent  for  the  selectmen  of  the  town,  and  in  the  * 
meanwhile  placed  a  keeper  at  the  door  to  prevent  improper 
persons  from  entering,  for  the  news  of  Clark’s  apprehension 
had  drawn  a  concourse  of  people  about  the  office.  He  told 


150 


STEPHEN  MERRIL  CLARK. 


the  boy  he  was  charged  with  having  set  fire  to  the  town,  and 
read  to  him  the  law  for  such.cases  made  and  provided.  Clark 
denied  the  fact,  upon  which  Mr.  Woart  told  him  he  had  been 
betrayed,  but  that  he  was  not  bound  to  say  anything  that  might 
criminate  himself.  Several  gentlemen  came  in  and  questioned 
.the  prisoner,  who  remained  steadfast  in  his  denial,  until  a  Mr. 
Prince  asked,  him  how  be  thought  it  was  known  that  he  had 
taken  a  candle  from  his  father’s  cellar,  which  he  broke,  and 
then  took  another  which  he  carried  to  a  certain  stable.  At 
this  question  he  evinced  considerable  agitation,  and  said  that 
if  they  would  tell  him  how  they  obtained  that  information  lie 
would  disclose  all.  Mr.  Woart  told  him  that  these  particulars 
were  obtained  from  Hannah  Downes,  Mrs.  Chase,  and  some 
others,  on  which  he  acknowledged  his  guilt  and  the  manner 
of  it;  but  said  none  of  the  persons  named  knew  anything  of 
the  matter,  excepting  Hannah  Downes.  Mr.  Woart  then  is¬ 
sued  a  warrant  against  the  prisoner,  and  proceeded  to  exam¬ 
ine  him,  repeating  however,  at  the  outset,  that  he  was  not 
bound  to  criminate  himself.  Being  asked  whether  he  was 
guilty  or  not  guilty,  he  replied  u  not  guilty;”  which  words 
he  explained  by  saying  he  did  not  burn  all  the  buildings, 
and  had  not  set  fire  to  the  barn  alone.  Clark  was  then  fully 
committed. 

It  appears  from  the  record  that  Clark’s  confessions  were  ex¬ 
torted  by  his  fears,  and  that  threats,  promises,  and  persuasion 
were  employed  on  this  occasion.  Nevertheless,  the  .naivete 
with  which  they  were  made,  leaves  no  manner  of  doubt  of  his 
guilt.  The  person  implicated  by  his  avowal,  was  a  boy  of 
about  his  own  years,  Joseph  Lawrence  by  name.  In  jail, 
after  his  commitment,  he  acknowledged  his  guilt  with  all  its 
circumstances,  to  five  different  persons.  The  only  excuse  or 
reason  he  gave  for  his  conduct  was,  that  Lawrence  had  incited 
him  to  it.  Ten  days  after  his  incarceration  he  made  an  attempt 
at  escape,  which  failed.- 

On  the  fifteenth  of  February  eighteen  hundred  and  twenty- 
one,  Stephen  Merrill  Clark  stood  before  the  bar  of  the  Supreme 
Judicial  Court- at  Salem,  to  answer  to  the  charge  of  Arson. 

The  principal  witnesses  against  him,  without  whose  evidence 
he  could  not  have  been  convicted,  were  his  former  associates, 
Hannah  Downes  and  Mrs.  Sally  Chase.  The  former  testified 
that  she  and  Mrs.  Chase  had  a  conversation  with  the  prisoner 
near  the  ruins  early  in  the  morning  after  the  fire,  whence  he 
walked  home  with  them.  On  the  way  he  observed  that  u  the 
fire  blazed  d — d  well,  and  the  fellow  who  made  it  was  a  d — d 


STEPHEN  MERRIL  CLARK. 


151 


good  fellow — and  if  he  knew  him  he  would  treat  him.”  To 
these  profane  remarks,  she  replied,  that  she  believed  he  knew 
as  much  about  the  matter  as  any  one.  He  nodded  assent,  and 
took  leave  of  her. 

She  met  him  again  at  sunrise,  and  heard  all  the  particulars 
of  his  guilt  from  his  own  mouth.  He  went,  1  e  stau,  r.U  his 
father’s  cellar  and  took  a  caadle.  but  breaking  it  accicu  ntally, 
thought  it  would  not  serve  his  purpose,  and  the ~cf  re  took 
another.  Then  taking  matches  and  a  lighted  segar,  he  went 
to  the  barn  and  clomb  into  the  upper  loft.  There  he  stuck 
the  candle  upright  in  a  wisp  of  hay,  put  it  under  the  stairs  in 
a  position  to  communicate  with  certain  combustibles,  and 
lighted  it  by  means  of  his  segar  and  matches.  This  took  place 
between  seven  and  eight,  or  eight  and  nine  o’clock.  After 
this  he  returned  home  and  went  to  bed  to  his  father,  that  he 
might  not  be  suspected.  At  twelve  he  awoke,  and  hearing  no 
alarm,  thought  the  candle  had  gone  out,  and  slept  again. 
When  he  awoke  again  at  two  the  fire  had  broke  out,  and  he 
went  to  see  it,  telling  his  father  as  he  started  that  he  believed 
some  person  intended  to  burn  the  town.  By  this  he  referred 
to  recent  fires  in  the  place,  particularly  one  that  took  place 
about  twenty-four  hours  previous,  and  which  he  had  himself 
occasioned. 

As  we  have  before  stated,  suspicion  fell  upon  Clark,  Han¬ 
nah  Downes,  and  Mrs.  Chase,  and  they  were  imprisoned  for  a 
while.  The  women  occupied  an  apartment  adjoining  Clark’s. 
The  prisoner  now  fearing  that  they  would  betray  him,  wrote 
Mrs.  Chase  a  letter  entreating  her  to  keep  silence,  and  sent 
it  by  William  Stanwood,  her  cousin,  to  whom  he  delivered  it 
through  a  window.  Stanwood  confirmed  their  evidence  on  this 
point.  In  the  course  of  the  night  Clark  knocked  several 
times  on  the  partition  between  them,  and  reiterated  his  re¬ 
quest. 

After  his  liberation  he  told  Hannah  Downes  he  meant  to  go 
eastward  and  stay  in  Maine  till  suspicion  and  alarm  subsided, 
and  then  return  to  Boston  by  water.  He  would  next  come  to 
Newburyport  by  night  and  set  fire  to  it  in  four  different  places, 
so  that  while  the  people  were  extinguishing  the  conflagration 
in  one  place  it  should  break  out  in  another.  On  her  telling 
him  that  he  would  be  sent  to  the  state  prison  if  discovered,  he 
replied  that  that  was  a  matter  of  indifference  to  him,  and  if 
he  staid  there  twenty  years  he  would  be  revenged  on  the 
town  of  Newburyport  as  soon  as  he  came  out. 

On  her  cross-examination,  Hannah  Downes  farther  stated 


152 


STEPHEN  MERRIL  CLARK. 


that  the  Thursday  before  the  fire,  as  she  was  standing  at  her 
father’s  door,  Clark  came  up  and  began  to  talk  to  her.  He 
put  something  to  her  nose  that  had  the  odor  of  brimstone. 
Being  asked  what  he  meant  to  do  with  it,  he  replied  that  she 
would  soon  know.  That  evening  a  barn  was  burned  down. 
This  w  is  the  substance  of  the  testimony  of  Hannah  Downes. 

Mrs.  Chase  confirmed  all  these  particulars.  She  added 
that  after  the  prisoner  was  liberated  she  believed  the  town 
in  imminent  danger,  and  considered  it  her  duty  to  save  it. 
Following  the  dictates  of  this  her  judgment,  she  wrote  an 
account  of  all  she  knew  to  Mr.  TVoart,  in  consequence  of 
which  Clark  was  arrested  on  his  rbturn,  as  has  already  been 
seen.  It  appears  from  her  evidence,  that  some  of  Clark’s 
relatives  had  opposed  his  intimacy  with  Hannah  Downes,  and 
that  his  motive  for  his  crime  was  to  revenge  himself  for  this 
interference. 

It  was  strongly  contended  by  the  prisoner’s  counsel  that 
no  faith  should  be  given  to  the  testimony  of  such  notoriously 
profligate  characters  as  these  women;  and  that  they  were  such, 
was  proved  by  abundant  evidence.  Mr.  Moses  Clark,  the 
prisoner’s  father,  especially,  did  much  to  discredit  them. 
He  stated  that  being  uneasy  on  account  of  his  son’s  intimacy 
with  them,  he  had  gone  to  their  house  to  remonstrate,  a  fort¬ 
night  before  the  fire.  On  this  occasion  he  asked  Hannah 
Downes  what  she  meant  by  enticing  his  boy,  and  said  she  would 
undo  him.  She  replied  that  she  meant  to  do  so.  Hard  words 
passed  between  them.  Finding  he  could  not  keep  his  son  out 
of  their  house,  he  had  complained  to  the  proper  authorities. 
He  never,  he  said,  feared  that  his  son  would  do  any  mischief, 
or  had  any  apprehension  on  his  account,  excepting  as  far  as 
related  to  the  company  he  kept. 

In  answer  to  this,  Mr.  Marston,  one  of  the  selectmen, 
stated  that  when  Mr.  Clark  complained  of  his  son,  he  said  he 
feared  that  if  something  were  not  done  the  lad  would  do  mis¬ 
chief.  Nay,  he  added  that  he  could  not  sleep  quietly  for  fear 
he  should  wake  and  find  the  town  burning.  In  proof  that 
Hannah  Downes  was  not  actuated  by  a  desire  to  injure  the 
prisoner,  Mr.  Woart  was  called  to  the  stand.  He  said  that 
on  being  apprised  of  Clark’s  guilt  by  Mrs.  Chase,  he  sent  for 
Hannah  Downes  and  questioned  her.  At  first  she  strenuously 
denied  all  knowledge  of  the  matter,  and  told  what  sne  knew 
with  great  reluctance  at  last.  She  alleged  her  promise  of 
secrecy  to  Clark  as  the  reason  of  her  unwillingness  to  con¬ 
fess. 


STEPHEN  MERRIL  CLARK. 


153 


Clark’s  counsel  objected  to  the  admission  of  the  testimony 
of  Hannah  Downes  touching  his  confession  to  her,  inasmuch 
as  it  was  not  proved  that  an  offence  had  been  committed,  or 
that  the  barn  in  question  had  not  been  set  on  fire  bv  accident. 
The  objection  was  over-ruled  by  the  Court,  who  decided  that 
nothing  was  necessary  previous  to  admitting  evidence  of  con¬ 
fession,  save  proof  of  the  fact  that  the  calamity  might  have 
been  brought  to  pass  by  human  agency. 

In  defence  of  the  prisoner  it  was  urged  that  the  town  of 
Newburyport  had  suffered  often  and  severely  by  fire,  and  that 
the  inhabitants  were  consequently  much  excited  against  him — 
that  this  excitement  had  influenced  the  testimony.  The  learn¬ 
ed  counsel  insisted  strongly  on  the  infamous  characters  of  the 
two  principal  witnesses,  and  on  the  threat  uttered  against 
Clark  by  Hannah  Downes  in  conversation  with  his  father. 
Farthermore  it  was  argued  that  Clark’s  confessions  to  Mr. 
Woart  and  others,  were  extorted  by  illegal  duresse,  restraint 
and  menace,  and  several  witnesses  were  then  introduced  to 
prove  an  alibi:  but  in  this  they  utterly  failed. 

After  a  deliberation  of  five  hours  the  jury  found  the  pris¬ 
oner  guilty,  and  sentence  of  death  was  passed  on  him.  He 
was  executed  accordingly. 

This  was  the  fourth  execution  in  the  county  of  Essex  since 
the  revolution,  and  the  first  for  the  crime  of  arson  within  the 
limits  of  our  commonwealth.  We  can  give  little  sympathy  to 
this  malefactor,  notwithstanding  his  youth  and  inexperience . 
The  offence  for  which  he  suffered  is  the  most  atrocious  and 
detestable  on  the  catalogue  of  crimes.  Theft,  robbery,  and 
murder,  have  certain  objects,  limited  in  extent;  but  no  one 
can  calculate  the  injury  that  may  be  done  by  arson.  We 
find,  too,  that  the  criminal  while  yet  uncertain  what  loss  he 
had  occasioned,  whether  of  property  or  life,  exulted  over  the 
ruins  he  had  made,  and  planned  schemes  of  more  extensive 
d  isolation  for  the  future. 


154 


SAMUEL  TULLY. 


SAMUEL  TULLY 

■  Was  born  in  Steventown,  New  York,  in  seventeen  hund' 
led  and  seventy-one.  His  father  was  a  soldier  of  the  revo 
lution. 

His  parents,  being  very  poor,  were  unable  to  educate  or 
provide  for  him,  and  therefore  at  the  age  of  sixteen  he  went 
to  sea  -as  a  foremast  hand,  and  made  two  voyages.  At  the 
conclusion  of  the  last  of  these  he  found  himself  without  re¬ 
sources  at  L’Orient  in  France,  and  was  compelled  by  actual 
necessity,  to  enter  on  board  a  French  man  of  war.  He  did 
not  remain  long  in  the  French  service,  but  deserted,  and  made 
several  more  voyages  to  different  ports  in  different  vessels. 
He  was  impressed  from  an  American  ship  into  the  British 
navy,  was  present  in  several  marine  battles,  and  finally  desert¬ 
ed  in  Italy.  He  then  became  one  of  the  crew  of  an  English 
letter  of  marque,  and  at  last  became  a  sailmaker  in  Quebec. 

He  then  entered  a  lake  vessel,  on  board  which  he  remain¬ 
ed  a  year,  after  which  he  repaired  to  New  York,  and  thence 
to  Norfolk  in  Virginia.  There  he  shipped  for  England,  with 
the  yellow  fever  on  board.  Several  passengers  died,  but  Tul- 
ly  escaped.  Nothing  worthy  of  note  occurred  until  the  vessel 
cleared  the  banks,  when  she  encountered  a  storm  and  suffered 
considerably;  notwithstanding  which,  she  reached  Hull  in 
safety.  Tully’s  next  act  was  to  marry  a  woman  named  Ruth 
Willeton,  in  Lincolnshire.  He  then  bought  part  of  a  small 
vessel,  and  followed  the  coasting  trade  till  he  was  impressed 
on  board  the  British  second  rate  the  Nonsuch,  Captain  Black¬ 
wood  commander. 

Captain  Blackwood  having  a  prospect  of  getting  an  active 
command  and  seeing  that  Tully  was  an  able  seaman,  asked  him 
if  he  were  willing  to  enter  a  cruising  frigate  under  his  com¬ 
mand.  Tully  answered  that  he  would  enter  under  no  officer, 
nor  in  any  vessel  whatever,  as  he  was  resolved  to  desert  the 
first  opportunity.  The  next  day  he  was  sent  on  board  the 
Commedea,  and  sailed  with  a  squadron  on  a  cruise,  during 
which  he  assisted  to  capture  three  French  ships  of  the  line. 
Alter  mis  he  sailed  with  a  fleet  under  Admiral  Parker,  and 
was  pi  isent  at  the  capture  of  two  sail  of  the  line  and  the  burn¬ 
ing  of  another. 


SAMUEL  TULLY. 


155 


In  seventeen  hundred  and  ninety-seven  Tully  was  on  board 
the  Brilliant,  frigate,  one  of  Admiral  Duncan’s  fleet.  While 
lying  off  Blackstakes  the  Brilliant  was  boarded  by  a  boat  from 
the  Inflexible,  manned  by  mutineers,  and  our  hero  was  with 
the  rest  of  the  ship’s  crew  ordered  on  deck.  Here  the  con¬ 
spirators  desired  them  to  sign  articles  of  agreement,  by  which 
the  officers  of  the  fleet  were  to  be  compelled  to  grant  the  pri¬ 
vate  seamen  more  la:''ude  of  conduct  and  a  greater  allowance 
of  provisions.  These  the  ship’s  crew  instantly  adopted,  took 
possession  of  the  frigate’s  ammunition  and  stores,  and  pro¬ 
ceeded  to  elect  officers.  They  offered  Tully  the  command  of 
the  ship,  and  on  his  refusal  gave  him  a  dozen  lashes,  threat¬ 
ening  to  flog  him  till  he  consented.  On  this  he  accepted 
the  command,  and  retained  it  till  Admiral  Duncan  came  from 
the  Texel  and  took  ship  after  ship  from  the  mutineers, 
among  others  the  Brilliant.  Tully  and  seven  others  were 
sent  to  Sheerness  to  be  tried  by  the  commissioners,  whence 
they  were  removed  to  a  prison  ship  where  they  remained 
six  months,  when  they  received  a  full  pardon. 

Tully  next  doubled  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope  on  board  the 
Leopard  frigate,  one  of  a  fleet.  The  Leopard  anchored  off 
the  coast  about  six  degrees  westward  of  Cape  Guardefoy, 
and  sent  an  officer  on  shore  to  look  for  wood  and  water.  He 
got  on  shore  notwithstanding  the  surf,  but  found  the  natives 
hostile  and  was  unable  to  effect  his  purpose.  Three  days  after, 
three  more  boats  were  despatched,  as  the  fleet  was  now  on 
short  allowance.  Tully  and  eight  other  persons  went  in  the 
Leopard’s  boat,  under  the  command  of  Lieutenant  Simpson 
and  Mr.  Bolger,  the  boatswain.  Lt.  Simpson  carried  with 
him  a  pair  of  pistols,  and  the  boatswain  had  also  a  pistol,  which 
were  all  the  arms  they  carried  with  them. 

After  they  landed  the  Lieutenant  ordered  four  of  the  men 
to  remain  by  the  boat,  while  the  rest  should  make  a  short  ex¬ 
cursion  into  the  country.  He  left  a  pistol  with  them  and 
ordered  them  to  fire  it  in  case  of  any  misadventure.  On  their 
return  the  officer  and  his  men  discovered  a  great  multitude 
of  natives  about  the  boat,  and  a  flock  of  carrion  birds  over 
their  heads.  When  within  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of  the  savages, 
the  whites  saw  they  were  cutting  to  pieces  the  body  of  one 
of  their  companions  left  behind.  Tully,  who  marched  in  front, 
was  the  first  to  make  this  discovery,  which  being  communicat¬ 
ed  to  the  rest,  occasioned  no  little  consternation.  After  a 
consultation,  they  agreed  not  to  turn  their  backs,  but  to  ad¬ 
vance  on  the  savages  and  drive  them  from  the  boat  if  possible. 


156 


SAMUEL  TULLY. 


They  then  set  forward,  Tully  and  the  boatswain  going  before 
the  rest. 

When  within  thirty  yards  of 'the  savages,  these  last  retreat¬ 
ed  a  little  from  the  boats  and  made  signs  to  the  whites  to 
surrender,  on  pain  of  sharing  the  fate  of  their  companions. 
They  were  armed  with  lances  and  shields.  Seeing  that  the 
seamen  were  resolute  and  continued  to  advance,  some  of  them 
gave  ground,  but  others  stood  fast  and  Tully  fired  one  of  the 
Lieutenant’s  pistols  at  them.  Their  amazement  at  the  report 
was  great,  and  still  greater  at  seeing  the  blood  flowing  from 
a  wounded  man.  Him  they  carried  off,  as  well  as  the  bodies 
of  the  white  men  they  had  slaughtered,  which  gave  the  sea¬ 
men  a  chance  to  reach  their  boat.  As  soon  as  they  began  to 
move  it  the  savages  rushed  upon  them,  but  having  luckily 
found  the  pistol  they  had  left  still  loaded,  they  fired  two  charg¬ 
es  at  once,  both  of  which  took  effect,  as  the  natives  stood  so 
thick  that  they  could  not  well  be  missed.  The  beach  was 
flat  and  the  tide  was  ebbing,  and  the  mariners  therefore  mov¬ 
ed  their  boat  slowly  toward  the  water.  While  they  were  do¬ 
ing  it,  the  barbarians  recovered  their  courage  and  ran  again 
toward  them,  but  were  easily  routed  with  the  pistols.  After 
several  attacks  and  repulses,  the  whites  got  off,  under  a  show¬ 
er  of  spears,  by  which  one  of  their  number  was  killed  outright. 
When  the  survivors  were  outside  the  surf  they  rested  on  their 
oars,  and  saw  the  body  of  the  last  who  had  fallen  barbarous¬ 
ly  mutilated  by  the  natives.  These  savages,  it  seems,  were 
Arabs. 

On  their  arrival  on  board,  a  man  was  sent  to  the  mast  head 
(for  the  fleet  was  fourteen  miles  from  the  shore)  with  a  power¬ 
ful  glass,  to  look  out.  He  reported  that  he  saw  one  of  the 
boats  coming  off,  along  the  land,  her  crew  occasionally  firing 
their  muskets,  and  that  several  white  men  were  running  about 
on  shore,  naked.  In  due  time,  the  boat  seen  afloat  reached 
the  Leopard,  and  her  officer  (Captain  Ball)  brought  tidings 
that  the  other  had  swamped  in  crossing  the  bar,  and  that  the 
natives  had  seized  the  crew  as  soon  as  they  reached  the  beach, 
excepting  one  who  swam  off  to  his  (Captain  Ball’s)  boat. 
On  seeing  this,  Captain  Ball  asked  which  of  his  boat’s  crew 
would  venture  on  shore  with  a  note  for  their  wrecked  compan¬ 
ions.  They  all  refused,  saying  they  were  certain  that  the  crew 
of  the  first  boat  were  all  killed,  and  that  it  would  be  certain 
death  to  venture.  At  last  one  Lanagan,  noted  as  the  most 
thorough  reprobate  in  the  fleet,  said  that  to  save  any  man’s 
life  he  was  willing  to  risk  his  own.  He  accordingly  stripped 


Tully  and  Dalton  murdering  Geo .  Cummings . 


I 


I 


158 


SAMUEL  TULLY. 


and  sprung  into  the  water,  but  as  the  crew  soon  lost  sight  of 
him  they  concluded  he  was  swallowed  by  the  surf.  Such 
was  Captain  Ball’s  story. 

The  mai?  who  had  swam  off  the  shore,  was  so  exhausted 
with  fatigue  when  he  came  on  board  the  Leopard  as  to  be 
unable  to  speak.  He  shortly  recovered,  however,  so  far  as 
to  be  able  to  give  the  following  account  of  the  mishap  of  his 
boat,  which  was  commanded  by  Lieutenant  Nears  of  the 
Daedalus. 

He  said  that  after  the  boat  had  stamped  and  the  crew  had 
with  much  difficulty  reached  the  shore,  twelve  of  the  natives 
came  to  them,  and  at  first  seemed  very  kind.  They,  the 
whites,  had  among  them  a  professed  linguist,  who  could  under¬ 
stand  nothing  of  what  they  said,  but  that  they  wished  the  mar¬ 
iners  to  go  with  them  to  their  chief,  under  assurance  of  good 
treatment.  After  making  some  objections  Lieutenant  Nears 
assented,  and  went  with  them  about  half  a  mile .  His  resolution 
failing,  he  then  sat  down  under  a  great  tree,  and  told  his  peo¬ 
ple  to  be  on  their  guard.  While  they  remained  stationary,  a 
great  concourse  of  Arabs  flocked  around  them.  Some  of  the 
young  ones  speedily  became  enamored  of  the  naval  buttons 
on  Lieutenant  Nears’s  coat,  and  he  immediately  cut  them  off 
and  gave  them  up.  So  far  all  was*  well,  but  this  was  not  all. 

On  a  sudden  upwards  of  two  hundred  Arabs  fell  on  the 
whites  and  killed  the  officer  and  four  of  his  crew  on  the  spot. 
The  speaker  could  not  say  what  became  of  any  of  the  rest, 
excepting  that  he  had  seen  one  of  them  running  with  a  spear 
hanging  from  his  back.  He  had  himself  escaped  in  the  ut¬ 
most  confusion,  plunged  into  the  surf,  and  gained  Captain 
Ball’s  boat,  as  above  related. 

Seven  of  Mr.  Nears’s  men  who  had  escaped  the  massacre 
followed  the  shore  twenty  miles  till  they  were,  the  day  after, 
descried  from  the  mast  head  of  the  Daedalus,  which  was  still 
in  the  offing.  A  boat  was  sent  ashore  for  them,  and  they  were 
brought  on  board.  They  had  been  stripped  by  the  Arabs,  and 
were  so  burned  by  the  sun  that  they  appeared  more  like  flesh 
for  the  shambles  than  human  beings. 

Meeting  no  success  in  his  cruise,  the  commander  of  the 
fleet  ran  down  the  coast  to  Zanabar,  where  he  obtained  sup¬ 
plies,  and  then  returned  to  the  place  where  he  had  lost  his 
people. 

A  white  flag  was  flying. on  shore,  and  the  commodore  sent 
a  boat  on  shore  to  see  what  it  meant.  When  the  boat  came 
to  anchor  without  the  surf,  Murphy,  the  missing  man  of  Lieu- 


SAMUEL  TULLY. 


159 


tenant  Nears’s  crew,  swam  off  to  It.  It  seems,that  he  obtain¬ 
ed  permission  of  his  Arab  master  so  to  do,  on  condition  that 
he  would  return  the  next  day  with  a  ransom.  The  Commo¬ 
dore  now  learned  his  adventures,  as  well  as  those  of  Lanagan, 
the  gallant  seaman  who  left  Captain  Ball’s  boat  as  above  men¬ 
tioned. 

When  Lanagan  reached  the  shore,  all  the  crew  of  Mr. 
Nears  were  out  of  sight  except  Murphy,  who  had  a  spear 
stuck  in  his  back.  This  man  had  stopped  and  was  endeavour 
ing  to  extract  the  weapon,  when  Lanagan  came  up  to  him. 
They  went  behind  a  sand  hill  to  perform  this  piece  of  surgery, 
and  Lanagan  having  torn  out  the  spear,  bound  up  the  wound 
in  the  best  manner  he  was  able.  While  the  operation  was 
performing,  the  savages  passed  by  the  other  side  of  the  hill 
in  pursuit  of  the  fugitives  without  perceiving  them.  Murphy, 
feeling  very  faint  from  loss  of  blood,  now  entreated  Lanagan 
to  leave  him  and  save  his  own  life  if  possible;  but  the  latter 
declared  that  he  would  rather  die  than  abandon  him  in  such  a 
situation,  and  was  determined  to  stay  by  him  and  share  his 
fate,  be  that  what  it  might.  They  were  soon  discovered  by 
the  Arabs,  who  finding  Murphy  unable  to  walk,  carried  him 
to  their  town.  Here  a  quarrel  arose  touching  the  right  of 
property  in  their  prisoners.  Murphy  was  given  to  one,  and 
two  others  claimed  Lanagan.  At  last  the  one  who  seemed 
to  have  the  least  claim  gave  Lanagan  a  wound  in  the  neck, 
and  would  have  killed  him  had  not  the  women  interfered. 
Here  the  two  captives  remained  seventeen  weeks,  being  kind¬ 
ly  treated,  after  the  first  week. 

The  Commodore  now  sent  two  boats  ashore,  manned  with 
picked  crews,  well  armed.  The  officer  commanding  was  to 
offer  the  Arabs  a  thousand  dollars  in  specie,  twenty  muskets, 
twenty  pairs  of  pistols,  with  many  other  lesser  articles,  as  a 
ransom  for  Lanagan.  If  Lanagan  could  not  be  had  by  fair 
means  the  men  were  to  use  force,  and  bring  him  back  at  all 
events,  dead  or  alive.  If  the  Arabs  offered  any  violence,  they 
were  ordered  to  kill  as  many  of  them  as  they  could,  to  burn 
their  town,  and  bring  away  or  destroy  all  their  possessions. 
If  on  the  contrary  the  savages  behaved  peaceably,  the  whites 
were  to  behave  with  all  mildness;  for  the  Commodore  thought 
such  a  course  might  be  the  means  of  saving  the  lives  of  such 
unfortunate  mariners  as  might  be  wrecked  on  that  coast  in 
future. 

Lieutenants  Dodd  and  Simpson  commanded  the  expedition. 
The  boats  got  into  the  mouth  of  a  small  river  in  safety,  and 


160 


SAMUEL  TULLY. 


rowed  a  mile,  up  to  the  Arabian  town.  It  was  built  on  the 
top  of  a  hill  of  moderate  elevation,  about  two  hundred  yards 
from  the  bank  of  the  stream.  It  was  walled  round;  with  two 
gates.  The  banks  of  the  river  were  covered  with  cabbage, 
palm,  cocoa,  and  calabash  trees,  and  a  thick  growth  of  under¬ 
bush.  The  trees  were  covered  with  apes  of  all  descriptions, 
and  beautiful  birds. 

When  the  boats  came  opposite  the  town  the  Arab  who 
claimed  Murphy  was  the  first  who  came  toward  them;  and  he 
seemed  overjoyed  when  he  saw  his  man.  He  threw  his  arms 
about  Murphy’s  neck  and  kissed  him.  Presently  the  rest  of 
the  inhabitants  came  thronging  to  the  water-side,  and  offered 
the  whites  honey  and  water  to  drink.  These  last  ranged  their 
boats  about  twenty  yards  from  the  bank  for  fear  of  treachery, 
and  demanded  through  the  medium  of  an  interpreter  they  had 
brought  that  Lanagan  should  be  uestored  to  them.  They  said 
he  was  coming,  but  after  they  had  stood  and  talked  more  than 
two  hours,  nothing  was  seen  of  him.  Finally  they  all  retired 
within  their  walls  and  shut  the  gates.  After  some  time  they 
came  forth  again,  and  made  signs  to  the  whites  to  come  to 
them;  but  being  given  to  understand  that  this  could  not  be, 
they  again  retired.  The  officers  waited  yet  an  hour,  and  see¬ 
ing  no  signs  of  their  re-appearance,  put  their  boats  about  as 
if  to  depart,  on  which  the  Arabs  came  once  more  to  the  river 
bank,  but  without  Lanagan.  The  officers  now  showed  them 
the  things  they  were  willing  to  give  by  way  of  ransom,  and 
they  appeared  desirous  to  have  them,  but  after  much  confabu¬ 
lation,  once  more  shut  themselves  up.  This  farce  was  repeat¬ 
ed  several  times,  each  side  suspecting  bad  faith  on  the  part 
of  the  other.  At  last  the  whites  suspected  that  they  had  put 
Lanagan  to  death,  and  prepared  to  attack  them;  which  attempt, 
had  it  been  made,  must  have  resulted  in  their  own  destruction, 
as  the  Arabs  numbered  over  a  thousand  men,  all  well  armed. 
Finally,  as  one  of  the  officers  wras  about  to  lay  hands  on  the 
chief,  some  of  them  brought  Lanagan  rrom  the  town,  in  a  sin¬ 
gular  fashion.  They  had  tied  his  hands  and  feet  together, 
had  thrust  a  pole  through  them,  and  brought  him  along  thus 
uncomfortably.  Even  then  they  feared  to  trust  themselves 
within  reach  of  the  English,  and  it  was  agreed  that  twen¬ 
ty  of  them  should  meet  seven  of  the  whites  in  the  midst,  both 
parties  unarmed,  while  the  rest  should  stand  aloof.  This  ar¬ 
rangement  was  carried  into  effect,  and  Lanagan  was  soon  re¬ 
leased  from  his  bonds.  After  this  the  English  gave  the  A  rabs 
more  pris-ents,  the  common  men  even  stripping  their  neck- 


SAMUEL  TULLr. 


161 


cloths  from  their  necks  for  them,  so  great  was  their  joy  at 
having  recovered  their  comrade.  The  whites  then  returned  to 
their  respective  ships. 

The  fleet  next  sailed  through  the  Straits  of  Babelmandel 
up  the  Red  Sea  to  Suez,  where  the  ships  remained  two  months* 
They  then  sailed  to  Bombay,  refitted,  and  returned  to  Suez. 
Here  the  plague  was  raging  terribly,  yet  as  the  vessels  were 
in  want  of  many  things,  the  commander  was  obliged  to  send 
his  boats  on  shore  every  day.  Tully  was  appointed  cockswain 
of  one,  and  though  his  crew  were  constantly  on  shore,  did  not 
lose  a  man.  No  water  was  brought  on  board,  and  every  time 
the  boat  came  off  Tully  was  ordered  to  strike  her  masts,  and  to 
smoke  her  and  her  crew  with  frankincense  for  half  an  hour. 
Even  then  he  was  not  suffered  to  board  either  of  the  vessels, 
but  when  the  purification  was  judged  sufficient  a  boat  put  off 
from  each  ship  for  such  things  as  were  wanted  on  board. 

This  frightful  disease  first  manifested  itself  by  two  or  three 
large  tumors  inside  the  thigh,  attended  by  violent  pain  in  the 
head  and  spine.  It  often  came  on  so  suddenly  that  the  person 
afflicted  would  be  raving  mad  within  twenty  minutes,  and 
expire  shortly  after.  One  man,  being  asked  the  time  of  day, 
was  seized  with  his  watch  in  his  hand,  clutched  it  fast,  died 
within  twenty  minutes,  and  was  buried  with  it  in  his  hand. 
The  Arabs  were  employed  to  bury  the  dead  at  low  water 
mark,  at  two  dollars  each. 

Here  some  of  the  seamen  belonging  to  the  fleet  defaced 
the  sculpture  of  an  ancient  temple,  by  breaking  off  all  the 
projections  they  could  reach.  An  old  priest  complained  to 
the  admiral  of  the  sacrilege,  and  was  promised  that  the 
offenders  should  be  brought  to  condign  punishment.  More¬ 
over,  the  Admiral  gave  him  a  thousand  dollars  to  repair  the 
edifice,  and  assured  him  of  his  sorrow  for  the  outrage,  so  that 
he  was  well  satisfied.  He  said  that  he  did  not  wish  that  any 
one  should  be  punished,  as  God  would  take  that  care  on  him¬ 
self,  and  that  no  money  could  replace  the  beautiful  specimens 
of  art  that  had  been  carried  off,  as  the  skill  that  formed  them 
had  long  been  extinct.  The  pile,  he  said,  was  upwards  of 
three  centuries  old,  and  was  the  tomb  of  some  of  the  prophets. 
He  was  surprised  that  any  calling  themselves  Christians  could 
injure  it.  The  admiral  was  not  of  the  old  man’s  opinion  with 
regard  to  referring  the  article  of  punishment  to  a  higher 
tribunal:  he  caused  the  men  who  had  been  on  shore  to  be 
searched,  took  their  spoils  from  them,  and  gave  them  two 
dozen  lashes  apiece.  The  fragments  he  sent  back  to  whence 
they  came. 


162 


I 


SAMUEL  TULLY. 


After  remaining  some  time  in  India,  Tully  sailed  for  Eng¬ 
land  in  a  return  ship,  arrived  safely,  and  rfx  e>ved  a  furlough 
for  fourteen  days.  He  availed  himself  of  thi  f  eave  of  absence 
to  obtain  a  protection  from  the  American  consul,  rejoined  his 
wife,  and  brought  her  over  with  him  to  New  York.  Thence 
he  went  to  Albany,  fully  resolved  to  pass  the  rest  of  his  days 
on  dry  land;  but  it  was  otherwise  ordered.  He  learned  that 
some  of  his  nearest  relations  were  dead,  and  of  the  other 
branches  of  his  family  he  could  get  no  tidings.  Finding  him¬ 
self  destitute  he  returned  to  New  Y'ork,  placed  his  wife  in  a 
comfortable  situation,  and  went  to  sea  again.  In  a  short  time 
he  amassed  a  considerable  sum,  with  which  he  set  up  a 
grocery  and  boarding  house  for  sailors.  Here  he  prospered 
for  a  while,  and  had  the  satisfaction  to  find  his  father,  sister, 
and  brothers. 

Tully  continued  to  do  business  of  various  kinds,  sometimes 
at  sea,  sometimes  on  shore,  till  the  year  eighteen  hundred  and 
eleven,  when  he  shipped  for  his  last  voyage.  In  giving  our 
account  of  this,  we  must  premise,  in  justice  to  the  fame  of 
others,  that  it  rests  on  the  ipse  dixit  of  one  man;  and  that 
one  a  convicted  felon. 

While  Tully  was  at  Philadelphia,  a  Captain  Levy  asked  him 
if  he  were  willing  to  go  a  voyage  with  him  as  mate  of  his 
schooner.  Knowing  that  Mr.  Levy  had  disagreed  with  several 
mates,  Tully  was  at  first  unwilling  to  close  with  the  proposal; 
but  being  strongly  urged  at  last  yielded.  Accordingly  he  went 
on  board  the  schooner  George  Washington,  and  sailed  from 
the  Delaware  on  the  seventeenth  of  October  eighteen  hun¬ 
dred  and  eleven,  for  Teneriffe  and  other  places. 

On  the  fourth  da)'  after  sailing,  John  Owen  the  cook,  a 
negro,  told  Tully  that  some  bread  in  one  of  the  stern  lockers 
was  wet,  which  circumstance  the  mate  reported  to  the  captain. 
Mr.  Levy  went  below,  leaving  Tully  on  deck  where  he  re¬ 
mained  till  eight  in  the  evening.  Then  going  below,  he 
found  his  birth  emptied  of  his  effects  and  filled  with  bread. 
This  he  took  in  good  part,  simply  asking  the  captain  if  he 
had  taken  care  of  his  watch  and  breast-pin,  which  he  had  left 
in  the  birth.  Mr.  Levy  replied  by  cursing  the  articles 
mentioned,  saying  they  were  nothing  to  him,  and  he  would 
study  no  interest  but  his  own.  Tully  then  asked  why  the 
bread  might  not  have  been  put  in  his,  the  captain’s  birth,  as 
that  was  empty;  he  preferring  to  sleep  in  a  hammock.  Captain 
Levy  slid  that  such  was  not  his  pleasure;  to  which  the  mate 
replied  that  he  had  not  come  on  board  the  vessel  to  be 


SAMUEL  TULLY. 


163 


abused;  that  he  knew  he  was  so  far  the  captain’s  servant  as 
to  be  obliged  to  do  anything  commanded,  but  that  Mr.  Levy 
had  no  right  to  abuse  him  or  his:  if  he  had  offended  it  was 
for  the  captain  to  inform  him  how  and  in  what,  that  he  might 
do  better  another  time.  Mr.  Levy  then  said,  in  passion,  that 
he  was  not  to  ask  Tully  what  to  do;  to  which  the  latter 
rejoined  that  he  hoped  he  was  more  capable  than  to  be  umk  r 
any  such  necessity.  After  this  altercation  the  captain  went 
on  deck,  and  Tully  gathered  up  his  effects  which  were  mis¬ 
placed,  and  some  of  them  damaged. 

For  about  a  week  all  went  on  smoothly  en  >ugh.  Then, 
Tully  never  having  seen  Captain  Levy  drink  any  spirits,  asked 
if  he  had  none  on  board.  The  captain  said  he' had,  and 
ordered  the  cook  to  bring  some.  The  mate  then  said  that  he 
had  always  been  used  to  have  as  much  as  he  pleased  in  all 
the  vessels  he  had  ever  sailed  in,  and  that  if  he  was  to  fare 
thus  he  should  not  be  able  to  do  his  duty  long.  He  added 
that  if  he  had  known  he  should  be  allowed  no  spirits  he  would 
have  provided  himself  before  sailing,  at  his  own  expense. 
Mr.  Levy  said  he  was  willing  he  should  have  as  much  as  he 
needed,  but  that  he  did  not  like  to  see  it  used  extravagantly. 
He  then  ordered  the  cook  to  give  Tully  a  glass  every  day  at 
dinner.  Soon  after  his  mind  changed  and  he  filled  a  bottle, 
which  he  said  must  last  four  days.  In  a  fortnight  this  allow¬ 
ance  was  stopped,  the  captain  being  of  opinion  that  his  spirits 
and  provisions  would  not  hold  out.  He  then  ordered  Tully 
to  weigh  and  deliver  to  the  crew  a  pound  of  meat  daily  each, 
and  said  that  the  officers  must  fare  like  the  men. 

This  allowance  did  not  satisfy  Tully  or  the  men,  and  in 
consequence  an  altercation  arose  between  the  captain  and  his 
mate.  Mr.  Levy  told  Tully  that  he  believed  he  was  trying 
to  excite  mutiny  on  board,  which  the  latter  denied,  but  said  he 
should  not  wonder  if  the  crew  should  compel  him  to  give  them 
more  food.  The  captain  answered  that  the  allowance  was 
sufficient,  and  if  they  wanted  more,  they  would  ask  for  it. 
Tully  said  that  he  was  not  speaking  for  them,  but  himself,  and 
the  allowance  was  not  sufficient  for  him.  The  captain 
rejoined  by  calling  him  a  liar  and  threatening  to  kick  him  out 
of  the  cabin.  Tully  ended  the  quarrel  by  demanding  to  be 
discharged  when  the  vessel  should  arrive  in  port,  a  petition 
that  was  rejected  by  Mr.  Levy.  After  this  there  was  muc  j 
bickering  on  board,  and  at  last  the  captain  gave  Tully  his 
word  of  honor  that  he  would  discharge  him,  as  he  desired. 

In  due  time  the  vessel  arrived  at  Teneriffe,  where  she  land- 

8 


I 


164  SAMUEL  TULLY. 

cd  her  cargo,  and  took  on  beard  twenty-five  hundred  dollars 
in  specie.  While  she  lay  at  this  [dace,  many  disputes  took 
place  between  the  two  officers,  the  captain  constantly  refusing 
to  discharge  the  mate.  After  some  days  the  vessel  hoisted 
sail  for  the  Isle  of  May,  one  of  the  Cape  de  Yerd  islands, 
where  she  arrived  on  Saturday  the  fourth  of  January  eigh¬ 
teen  hundred  and  twelve,  late  at  night. 

The  next  morning  the  captain  gave  Tully  directions  how 
to  moor  the  vessel,  and  then  went  on  shore.  He  came  on 
hoard  again  at  noon,  to  see  how  matters  were  going  on,  and 
then  left  the  vessel,  telling  Tully  to  send  the  boat  for  him 
at  sunset.  As  he  was  about  to  depart  Tully  asked  some 
question  which  led  to*  a  quarrel.  Finally  he  told  the  mate  to 
give  the  men  no  beef,  but  to  make  them  catch  fish  during  their 
watch  at  night,  which,  he  said,  would  keep  them  awake.  So 
far  we  have  related  the  incidents  of  this  unhappy  voyage 
according  to  Tully’s  own  account:  what  follows  rests  on  other 
authority. 

When  Captain  Levy  left  his  own  vessel,  he  went  on  board 
another  then  lying  in  the  roadstead.  At  eight  o’clock  two  of 
his  crew  named  Neal  and  Hopkins  came  to  him  in  the  George 
Washington’s  boat,  and  gave  him  such  information  touching 
the  proceedings  on  board  the  said  vessel,  as  induced  him  to 
look  out  for  her.  He  saw  that  she  was  gone  from  her  moorings, 
and  he  never  beheld  her  again.  The  next  day  he  caused  a 
search  for  the  anchors,  and  found  that  the  cables  had  been  cut 
by  some  sharp  instrument,  probably  an  axe.  Shortly  after, 
Areal  and  Hopkins  left  the  Isle  of  May  by  their  captain’s 
consent,  in  a  ship  bound  to  the  United  States  of  America,  and 
he  never  saw  them  more. 

Before  the  end  of  the  month  Tully,  another  of  the  George 
Washington’s  crew  called  John  JDalton,  and  John  Owen  the 
black  cook,  landed  from  an  open  boat  at  St.  Lucie  in  the  West 
Indies.  Tully  had  received  several  wounds  in  the  head,  and 
was  very  weak;  Dalton  also  was  quite  sick.  They  went  to  the 
harbor  master  and  told  him  they  belonged  to  a  vessel  that  had 
been  wrecked,  and  the  next  day  they  all  obtained  lodgings. 
They  all  had  considerable  sums  of  money  in  their  possession. 

A  few  days  after  they  were  examined  by  the  governor  of  the 
island,  and  not  giving  a  very  clear  account  of  themselves 
were  placed  under  surveillance.  Other  circumstances  com¬ 
bined  to  throw  suspicion  on  them,  and  finally  Owen  informed 
against  his  companions.  They  were  then  apprehended  and 
conveyed  to  the  United  States. 


SAMUEL  TULLY. 


165 


Tully  and  Dalton  were  arraigned  before  the  Circuit  Court 
at  Boston,  on  the  twentieth  of  October  following,  on  three 
indictments.  One  was  for  piracy,  another  for  the  murder  of 
George  Cummings,  and  the  third  for  feloniously  scuttling  the 
Schooner  George  Washington.  To  the  first  indictment  they 
pleaded  not  guilty,  and  the  court  proceeded  to  trial. 

John  Owen  testified  that  on  the  evening  when  Captain  Levy 
saw  the  last  of  his  vessel,  he  was  roused  from  his  sleep  by 
Tully,  and  ordered  to  hold  a  lantern  to  the  binacle,  that  the 
mate  might  see  how. the  vessel  was  lying,  she  being  then  at 
anchor.  He  went  to  bed  again,  and  shortly  after  the  mate 
called  all  hands  to  make  sail  on  the  vessel,  declaring  that  she 
had  drifted.  The  crew  were  about  executing  the  order  when 
Neal  and  Hopkins  discovered  that  the  cables  had  been  cut , 
and  refused  to  hoist  the  sails.  The  mate  told  them  that  he 
would  give  them  the  boat,  and  suffer  them  to  depart  as  soon 
as  the  sails  were  set,  and  accordingly  they  obeyed  his  order. 
This  done,  Tully  gave  these  two  men  the  boat,  and  they  left 
the  vessel. 

Owen  stated  that  he  too  requested  permission  to  accompany 
Neal  and  Hopkins,  but  the  mate  would  not  consent.  Those 
now  remaining  on  board  were  Tully,  John  Heathcot,  otherwise  / 
Dalton,  George  Cummings,  and  the  deponent. 

During  the  first  two  weeks  at  sea,  Cummings  was  melan¬ 
choly  and  uneasy;  lost  his  appetite,  and  frequently  kissed  the 
hands  and  feet  of  Tully  and  Dalton.  In  the  evening  omdvhich 
it  was  expected  they  would  make  the  land,  he  asked  Dalton 
when  the  shore  would  be  seen,  and  was  answered  u  tomor¬ 
row.”  Lfpon  that  Cummings  bade  Dalton  farewell,  saying 
they  should  never  see  each  other  again.  Dalton  treated  his 
expressions  with  levity,  but  he  persisted  in  repeating  them. 
Owen  then  went  below,  leaving  Cummings  seated  on  the  deck 
with  the  mate  and  Dalton. 

In  the  night  Owen  heard  himself  called,  and  as  he  readied 
the  deck  saw  that  Tully  and  Dalton  had  Cummings  on  the 
vessel’s  gunwale,  in  the  act  of  throwing  him  overboard. 
Cummings  had  a  knife  and  a  hammer  in  his  hands,  and  Tul¬ 
ly  had  received  several  wounds  in  his  head,  and  one  on  his 
hand.  In  his  confusion  Otfen  told  Dalton  that  what  he  said 
could  not  be,  but  the  mate  and  Dalton  nevertheless  persisted 
in  throwing  the  man  info  the  sea.  The  mate  said,  u  Over  he 
shall  go,  at  the  risk  of  my  life.”  And  he  did  go  over.  Nei¬ 
ther  of  his  mur  lerers  ever  expressed  any  regret  for  what  they 
had  done. 


I 


166  SAMUEL  TULLY. 

The  next  night  they  descried  land  and  the  vessel  was  laid 
to  till  morning.  The  mate  then  had  the  long  boat  hoisted  out. 
put  into  it  such  things  as  he  desired,  fastened  it  to  the  vessel 
by  aline,  and  made  0\v  ;n  get  into  it.  The  mate  then  veered 
the  boat  astern,  and  towed  it  a  considerable  distance.  Af¬ 
ter  a  while  the  mate  and  Dalton  hauled  the  boat  along-side 
and  got  into  it.  From  their  conversation  Owen  gathered  that 
they  had  scuttled  the  schooner  while  they  were  towing  Owen 
astern.  Nevertheless  she  did  not  sink  while  they  remained 
in  sight. 

After  the  boat  had  left  the  vessel  the  money  taken  was  dis¬ 
tributed  among  them,  and  Tully  told  the  others  they  must 
keep  what  had  passed  a  secret.  For  awhile  after  reaching 
the  shore,  Owen  continued  to  tell  the  story  they  had  agreed 
on,  but  at  last,  weary  of  lying  to  every  one  who  questioned 
him,  he  disclosed  the  truth  to  the  master  of  an  American  ves¬ 
sel.  They  were  all  arrested  in  consequence. 

Such  wras  the  testimony  of  Owen,  who  it  is  reasonable  to 
suppose  was  an  accomplice  in  the  piracy  if  not  in  the  murder. 
Tully’s  account  of  the  matter,  while  under  sentence  of  death, 
was  as  follows. 

He  never  thought  of  unlawful  measures  till  the  last  orders 
of  Captain  Levy  on  leaving  his  vessel,  raised  his  anger  to 
•  an  uncontrollable  degree.  He  spoke  of  his  feelings  to  Dalton, 
and  they  agreed  to  carry  the  vessel  off,  but  to  suffer  any  of 
the  hands  to  leave  her  who  felt  so  disposed.  After  the  cables 
were  cut  Neal  and  Hopkins  were  permitted  to  leave  the  ves¬ 
sel  as  has  already  been  seen,  but  neither  Cummings  nor  Owen 
evinced  any  inclination  to  accompany  them. 

Two  days  before  they  made  the  land  Cummings  behaved 
in  such  a  manner  as  made  Tully  believe  he  was  drunk.  In 
the  evening  he  asked  Tully  to  forgive  him,  to  which  the  mate 
replied  that  as  there  was  no  injury  or  offence  there  was 
nothing  to  be  forgiven.  Cummings  answered  that  he  only 
acted  according  to  the  fashion  of  his  own  country.  u  Well, 
then,”  said  Tully,  “  I  forgive  you  if  you  have  done  me  any 
wrong,  though  I  do  not  know  that  you  have.”  Cummings 
kissed  the  mate’s  hand  and  left  him.  From  his  demeanor 
Tully  believed  the  man  intoxicated. 

Soon  after  Cummings  approached  the  mate  again  and  de¬ 
sired  to  kiss  his  feet,  but  was  not  permitted.  Tully,  more¬ 
over,  reproved  him  for  having  made  too  free  with  wine.  About 
eight  o’clock  in  the  evening  Cummings  brought  a  pitcher  of 
wine  and  desired  the  mate  to  drink  with  him.  Tully  and  Dal- 


SAMUEL  TULLY. 


167 


ton  did  accordingly  drink  with  him  in  token  of  good  will. 
Cummings  then  retired  to  rest,  but  soon  rose  again.  He 
brought  more  wine  on  deck  and  asked  them  to  pledge  him 
once  more.  Tully  refused  at  first,  but  on  being  told  by  Cum¬ 
mings  that  if  he  did  not  drink  he  would  scon  die,  he  complied. 
After  eating  and  drinking,  Tully  threw  himself  on  the  hen¬ 
coop,  and  slept.  He  was  awakened  by  a  severe  blow  on  the 
head,  and  before  he  could  gain  his  feet  received  two  stabs, 
one  behind  his  ear,  and  the  other  near  the  temple.  As  soon 
as  he  recovered  his  faculties  he  saw  Cummings  standing  at 
the  companion-way  with  a  hammer  in  one  hand  and  a  knife  in 
the  other.  Tully  advanced  on  him  and  asked  what  he  meant, 
but  received  no  answer.  As  the  mate  laid  hands  on  him  he 
leaned  so  far  over  the  vessel’s  side  that  both  had  like  to  have 
fallen  into  the  sea  together,  whereupon  Dalton  pulled  them 
in,  by  Tully’s  desire,  and  Cummings  fell  on  the  deck.  The 
cook  was  now  called  on  deck,  and  by  Tully’s  order,  laid  hands 
on  Cummings.  Tully  then  went  to  the  other  side  of  the  ves¬ 
sel  where  he  stood  leaning  against  the  long-boat  till  Dalton 
and  Owen  told  him  they  had  thrown  Cummings  into  the  sea. 
They  said  he  had  told  them  that  he  had  committed  several 
murders  before,  and  feared  that  he  would  do  them  a  mischief. 
They  then  took  Tully  into  the  cabin  and  stanched  his  wounds, 
for  he  was  weak  and  faint  from  loss  of  blood. 

When  they  made  the  land  Tully  resolved  to  heave  the  ves¬ 
sel  to  in  tie  ordinary  track  of  ships,  in  hopes  she  might  be 
picked  up  by  some  of  them,  and  gain  the  shore  in  the  boat. 
His  reason  for  this  procedure  was,  that  as  he  had  neither  ca¬ 
ble  nor  anchors,  and  as  the  negro,  who  was  no  seaman,  was 
the  only  able  bodied  man  on  board,  he  dared  not  approach  the 
coast.  Dalton  and  Owen  hoisted  out  the  boat  and  loaded  her 
by  themselves,  Tully  being  too  weak  to  render  any  assistance 
They  left  the  vessel  as  before  stated,  but  did  not  scuttle  her. 
The  rest  of  their  proceedings  are  already  known  to  our  read¬ 
ers. 

Tully  and  Dalton  were  found  guilty,  but  the  next  day  a 
motion  was  filed  in  court  by  the  prisoners’  counsel  for  a  new 
trial  on  the  following  grounds.  First,  because  the  court  had 
misdirected  the  jury  in  committing  the  case  to  them,  in  say¬ 
ing  that  if  the  defendants  were  proved  to  have  runaway  with 
the  vessel  and  cargo  as  mentioned  in  the  indictment  it  con- 
stiluted  the  crime  of  piracy  within  the  meaning  of  the  stat¬ 
ute  Second,  because  the  verdict  of  the  jury  had  been  given 
against  the  weight  of  evidence,  they  having  decided  that  the 


168 


SAMUEL  TULLT. 


prisoners  piratically  took  the  vessel  from  the  custody  of  her 
master;  whereas  there  was  no  proof  that  they  exercised  force 
or  violence  against  Captain  Levy  or  any  other.  The  evidence 
on  the  part  of  the  government  proved  the  contrary. 

rlhe  court  decided  that  the  object  of  the  statute  was  to  pre¬ 
vent  atrocious  violations  of  trust  on  the  part  of  those  standing 
in  any  particular  relations  to  ships,  and  that  force,  violence, 
or  the  act  of  putting  in  fear,  was  not  neccessary  to  constitute 
a  piracy.  The  motion  was,  therefore,  overruled,  and  the  pris¬ 
oners  were  sentenced  to  death. 

They  were  immediately  removed  to  the  state  prison,  and 
there  treated  with  every  indulgence  consistent  with  their  sit¬ 
uation.  Several  worthy  clergymen  visited  them  constantly, 
with  pious  advice  and  spiritual  consolation.  The  seed  fell  on 
willing  soil,  and  the  conduct  of  the  prisoners  was  patient  and 
resigned.  They  professed  their  faith  in  the  Redeemer,  and 
said  that  the  first  awakening  of  their  minds  to  the  duties  of 
religion  was  caused  by  their  awful  situation.  Both  ac¬ 
knowledged  with  gratitude  that  they  had  been  fairly  tried  and 
justly  condemned,  but,  to  his  last  breath  Tully  persisted  in 
the  account  he  had  given  of  the  whole  matter,  and  accused 
Owen  of  wilful  perjury.  The  evidence  of  an  accomplice 
certainly  is  and  ought  to  be  good  in  law,  but  in  this  case  we 
should  remember  that  Owen  swore  for  his  life,  and  charitably 
believe  that  the  piracy  may  have  been  Tully’s  only  crime. 
Even  the  negro’s  evidence  clearly  shows  that  Cummings,  un¬ 
der  the  influence  of  Mania  a  potu,  was  a  dangerous  shipmate, 
and  it  is  very  probable  he  struck  the  first  blow  in  the  affray 
that  cost  him  his  life.  How  far  this  fact,  if  admitted,  should 
absolve  those  who  slew  him  from  the  guilt  of  murder  we  leave 
our  readers  to  decide.  Perhaps  they  might  have  secured  him, 
and  put  themselves  out  of  danger  without  taking  his  life. 

On  the  tenth  of  December  the  prisoners  were  taken  to  the 
place  of  execution  at  South  Boston,  and  after  they  had  as¬ 
cended  the  scaffold  the  death  warrant  was  read.  Tully  would 
have  read  a  paper  he  had  prepared,  but  his  strength  proved 
unequal  to  the  task  and  the  Deputy  Marshal  read  for  him. 
It  was  a  declaration  of  his  innocence  of  the  murder,  but  ad¬ 
mitted  the  piracy  fully.  Also  it  contained  expressions  cf 
gratitude  to  those  by  whom  he  had  been  kindly  treated. 

T  his  done  the  rope  was  adjusted  to  his  neck,  and  while  in 
the  act  of  fervent  prayer  the  drop  fell,  and  he  expired  in  the 
presence  of  a  vast  multitude ’assembled  to  enjoy  the  edifying 
spectacle. 


MICHAEL  POWERS. 


169 


Dalton  did  not  desire  to  say  anything.  He  was  made 
to  take  his  place  on  the  gallows,  his  arms  were  pinioned,  his 
neck-cloth  removed,  the  rope  was  adjusted  and  the  felon’s 
cap  drawn  over  his  eyes.  At  that  awful  moment  the  Marshal 
stepped  forward  with  a  reprieve,  and  the  criminal  was  taken 
back  to  prison.  The  reprieve  was  followed  by  a  full  pardon 
some  weeks  after. 


MICHAEL  POWERS, 

Was  born  in  Ireland  in  the  county  of  Wexford,  Anno  Domini 
seventeen  hundred  and  sixty-nine.  He  followed  the  business 
of  his  father,  cultivating  the  earth,  till  the  twenty-eighth  year 
of  his  age.  At  that  period  he  joined  the  ranks  of  his  coun¬ 
trymen  whom  English  oppression  had  driven  to  rebellion,  and 
shared  alike  their  dangers  and  excesses.  At  the  close  of 
the  tragedy  he  escaped  to  England,  where  he  lived  seve¬ 
ral  years,  according  to  his  own  account,  reputably,  by  the 
sweat  of  his  brow. 

In  eighteen  hundred  and  two  he  came  to  Boston,  where  he 
obtained  employment  as  a  common  laborer,  and  soon  became 
noted  for  his  diligence  and  fidelity  to  his  employers.  He  did 
not,  like  many  of  his  class,  squander  his  earnings  in  riot  and 
debauchery.  He  could  command  the  highest  wages,  and  soon 
saved  something  for  the  time  of  need.  For  eighteen  years 
he  lived  in  this  city  in  unblemished  repute,  never  in  all 
that  time  incurring  the  rebuke  of  the  law  in  the  smallest  par¬ 
ticular.  His  credit  was  good  with  those  who  knew  him,  and 
he  had  the  character  v>f  an  honest,  frugal,  and  industrious 
citizen. 

In  the  autumn  of  eighteen  hunded  and  seventeen  he  resolv¬ 
ed  to  return  with  his  honorable  earnings,  which  now  amount¬ 
ed  to  a  large  sum,  to  Ireland,  there  to  pass  the  remainder  of 
his  days.  On  arriving  in  his  native  land  he  found  that  eigh¬ 
teen  years  had  produced  great  changes  and  made  him  almost 
a  stranger.  He  therefore  resolved  to  return  to  the  United 
States,  and  three  young  men,  induced  by  his  accounts  of  his 
success  in  life,  came  with  him.  One  of  them,  Timothy  Ken¬ 
nedy  by  name,  was  his  distant  relation.  Kennedy  also  soon 


170 


MICHAEL  POWERS. 


acquired  the  name  of  an  honest,  peaceable  and  industrious 
man. 

The  only  thing  alleged  against  Powers  previous  to  the  of¬ 
fence  for  which  he  suffered,  was  an  illicit  intercourse  with  a 
loose  woman  named  Susan  Campbell.  For  this  connexion, 
he  was  reproved  by  the  catholic  clergy,  and  was  excommu¬ 
nicated  for  refusing  to  break  it  off.  He  lived  with  his  para¬ 
mour  in  a  one  story  building  in  North  Russel  Street. 

On  the  fifth  of  October  eighteen  hundred  and  eighteen 
Powers  applied  to  Samuel  D.  Parker,  Esquire,  for  three 
writs  against  the  three  persons  who  had  accompanied  him  from 
1  reland.  That  against  Kennedy  was  for  twenty  dollars,  alleged 
to  have  been  lent  him  by  Powers  to  pay  his  passage  over. 
The  writ  was  granted,  Kennedy  was  committed  to  jail,  and  an 
action  was  entered  against  him.  When  the  case  was  tried  no 
evidence  was  exhibited  on  either  side.  Powers  said  that  he 
had  lent  Kennedy  the  money  trusting  to  his  honor,  and  that 
when  he  asked  it  again  he  had  been  answered  with  abuse. 
This  statement  Kennedy  utterly  denied,  but  the  parties  agreed 
to  leave  the  business  to  referees  and  abide  by  their  decision. 
Each  told  his  own  story  before  the  referees  on  oath,  and  the 
award  was  that  Powers  should  pay  Kennedy  five  dollars  and 
twelve  cents.  Powers  refused  to  abide  by  the  decision,  and 
Kennedy  could  not,  though  he  tried,  compel  him  to  do  so. 

Powers  was  highly  indignant  at  the  result  of  his  lawsuit, 
and  resolved  to  commit  one  of  the  most  barbarous  and  atro¬ 
cious  crimes  ever  heard  of  in  this  or  any  other  country.  His 
passion  was  so  absorbing  that  it  overcame  his  habitual  pru¬ 
dence.  Though  naturally  cautious  and  reserved,  he  declared 
to  several  persons  that  he  would  kill  Kennedy. 

On  the  second  of  March  eighteen  hundred  and  nineteen 
Kennedy  was  seen  to  walk  with  Powers  into  the  house  of  the 
latter,  but  no  one  saw  him  alive  afterwards.  His  disappear¬ 
ance  occasioned  general  alarm  among  his  friends,  and  a 
warrant  was  issued  against  Powers,  but  he  was  missing. 
Stains  of  blood  were  discovered  in  Powers’s  house,  and  alter 
removing  the  wood  with  which  the  cellar  was  filled  a  new 
made  grave  was  discovered.  The  body  of  Timothy  Kennedy 
was  found  in  it,  and  recognised,  though  the  hands,  face  and 
clothes  were  much  burnt.  The  skull  had  been  fractured  by 
a  mortal  blow  given  with  some  heavy,  blunt  weapon.  A 
broad  axe  was  found  in  a  closet  speckled  with  blood,  and  on 
the  head  was  one  hair,  corresponding  with  Kennedy’s. 

On  the  liftct  nth  of  the  m  nth  Powers  was  arrested  in 


MICHAEL  POWERS. 


171 


Philadelphia  by  a  Mr.  Fowle,  and  carried  before  a  magistrate. 
He  confessed  his  name,  business,  residence,  and  acquaintance 
with  Susan  Campbell,  and  said  he  had  left  Boston  in  the  lat¬ 
ter  part  of  February.  He  had  travelled  to  Providence  on 
foot,  and  thence  by  water  to  Philadelphia,  where  he  arrived 
the  day  before  his  arrest.  His  examination  was  to  the  fol¬ 
lowing  purport. 

Mr.  Fowle.  Do  you  know  Timothy  Kennedy? 

Powers.  Yes. 

Mr.  Fowle.  Did  you  bring  him  over  to  this  country,  from 
Ireland,  and  pay  for  his  passage? 

Powey's.  Yes. 

Mr.  Fowle.  Did  you  sue  him  afterwards  for  the  money? 

Powei's.  Yes. 

Mr.  Fowle.  Did  you  recover  anything  on  the  suit? 

Powers.  I  don’t  know:  Squire  Parker  had  the  care  of  it. 
I  never  got  anything. 

Mr.  Fowle.  Have  you  had  a  quarrel  with  Kennedy? 

Powers.  No.  I  have  had  a  law-suit  with  him,  but  no  quarrel. 

Mr. Fowle.  When  did  you  see  Kennedy  last? 

Powers.  I  do  not  know. 

Mr.  Fowle.  I  ask  you  when  you  saw  Timothy  Kennedy 
last? 

Powey's ,  much  confused.  I  don’t  know — About  a  fortnight 
before  I  left  Boston. 

Mr.  Foivle.  Did  you  see  him  the  day  before  you  left  Bos¬ 
ton? 

Powers.  No. 

The  Magistrate.  Michael,  Timothy  Kennedy  was  in  your 
house  the  very  day  before  you  left  Boston.  He  was  seen  to 
go  in. 

Mr.  Fowle.  Michael,  Kennedy  has  been  murdered,  and 
you  are  charged  with  having  murdered  him. 

Powers ,  somewhat  alarmed.  I  am  not  guilty,  and  no  man 
living  can  prove  it. 

Mr.  Fowle.  The  proofs  are  very  strong  against  you. 

Powers.  I  am  not  guilty. 

Mr.  Fowle.  Susan  Campbell  is  in  jail  in  Boston. 

Powey's ,  very  quickly.  She  has  no  right  to  be  there. 

Mr.  Fowle.  Why? 

Powers.  Because  she  has  no  right  to  be  there. 

Mr.  Fowle.  Why? 

Powey's.  Because  she  never  did  anything  wrong. 

Mr.  Fowle.  Who  has  a  right  to  be  in  jail  then? 

8* 


172 


MICHAEL  POWERS. 


Powers.  I — I  don’t  know. 

Mr.  Fowle.  Susan  Campbell  has  probably  told  the  whole 
story  about  the  murder  by  this  time. 

Powers.  She  cannot.  No  person  living  can  prove  it. 

The  Magistrate.  Michael,  I  believe  you  have  killed  Ken¬ 
nedy. 

Powers.  I  am  sorry  you  have  so  bad  an  opinion  of  me,  sir. 

Hie  Magistrate.  I  must  send  you  back  to  Boston. 

Powers.  For  what? 

The  Magistrate.  To  take  your  trial  for  this  murder. 

At  these  words  the  murderer  became  agitated  and  frighten¬ 
ed.  Tears  stood  in  his  eyes.  He  turned,  stepped  quickly 
across  the  room,  and  sat  down.  On  searching  him,  an  old 
razor  was  found  in  his  pocket,  and  a  watch  in  his  fob.  He 
had  notes  and  specie  about  him:  several  guineas  were  sewed 
into  his  suspenders.  He  said  he  had  taken  the  whole  from  the 
Savings  Bank  before  he  left  Boston,  and  was  loth  to  part  with 
it,  though  assured  it  should  be  safely  kept.  He  seems  to  have 
been  avaricious;  a  fault  seldom  found  in  Irishmen.  After  this 
he  was  sent  to  prison. 

The  next  day,  the  following  dialogue  took  place  between 
him  and  Mr.  Fowle. 

Mr.  Fowle.  Did  you  lay  in  some  wood  just  before  you  left 
Boston  ? 

Powers.  No - 1  had  some  pine  wood. 

Mr.  Fowle.  When  did  you  get  it? 

Power's.  Some  time  last  summer. 

Mr.  Fowle.  How  much  did  you  lay  in  at  that  time? 

Powers.  I  don’t  know. 

Mr.  Fowle.  Was  there  one  cord  or  sixteen? 

Powers.  I  do  not  know — it  was  more  than  one  cord. 

Mr.  Fowle.  Did  you  buy  any  more  during  the  winter? 

Powers.  No. 

Mr.  Fowle.  Did  that  last  you  all  winter? 

Powers ,  after  some  hesitation.  No. 

Mr.  Fowle.  Did  you  live  part  of  the  winter  without  a  fire 
in  your  house? 

Power's.  No. 

On  the  twenty-third,  Powers  having  asked  for  a  clean  shirt 
and  cravat,  his  chest  was  sent  to  him;  and  while  Mr.  Fowle 
was  opening  it,  Powers  was  much  agitated.  He  said  he  had 
bought  the  chest  in  Providence.  Without  looking  for  a  shirt, 
he  took  a  hat,  coat,  waistcoat,  and  trowsers,  which  were  prov¬ 
ed  afterwards  to  have  belonged  to  Kennedy,  and  thrust  them 


MICHAEL  POWERS. 


173 


into  the  fire-place  in  a  great  hurry.  Then  he  began  to  strip, 
in  order  to  put  them  on,  all  the  while  agitated  and  trembling. 
However  he  was  not  suffered  to  take  anything  but  a  shirt  and 
cravat.  The  officers  made  him  put  on  the  coat  for  a  moment, 
to  see  if  it  fitted  him,  which  it  did  not.  He  said  he  had 
bought  this  garment  at  auction,  and  that  he  had  purchased  the 
rest  of  the  articles.  On  being  asked  if  the  clothes  had  ever 
belonged  to  Kennedy,  he  said  that  Kennedy  had  once  given 
him  a  pair  of  pantaloons.  Mr.  Fowle  then  showed  him  a 
pocket  book  he  had  taken  from  the  chest,  which,  with  much 
hesitation  he  acknowledged  to  have'  belonged  to  Kennedy 
What  passed  will  be  more  distinctly  conveyed  in  the  form  of 
dialogue. 

Mr .  Fowle.  How  came  the  pocket  book  in  your  possession  ? 

Powers.  Kennedy  gave  it  to  me. 

Mr.  Fowle.  When? 

Powers.  This  last  fall.  We  boarded  together  at  the  time. 

Mr.  Fowle.  Did  you  take  it  out  of  Kennedy’s  trunk  just 
before  you  left  Boston? 

Powers.  No. 

Mr  Fowle,  showing  him  a  ten  dollar  bill.  How  came  you  by 
this  ? 

Powers.  Kennedy  gave  it  to  me  for  a  debt  he  owed  me. 

Here  the  prisoner  turned  and  stepped  to  the  other  end  of 
the  room,  as  if  to  avoid  further  conversation,  but  presently 
recovered  himself,  and  answered  Mr.  Fowle’s  next  question. 

Mr.  Fowle.  Did  you  make  a  trap  door  in  the  floor  of  your 
house  ? 

Powers.  Yes. 

Mr.  Fowle.  What  for? 

Powers.  To  throw  my  wood  down.  I  could  not  do  it  be¬ 
fore  without  going  through  another  person’s  house. 

Mr.  Fowle.  Had  you  been  digging  in  your  cellar  just  be¬ 
fore  you  left  Boston? 

Powers.  No. 

Mr.  Fowle.  Had  you  an  axe  in  your  house? 

Powers.  Yes,  I  had  two  of  them. 

Mr.  Fowle.  Kennedy’s  body  was  found  buried  in  your  cel¬ 
lar. 

Powers.  It  must  have  been  after  I  came  away  then.  If 
he  got  an  unlucky  blow,  it  was  not  for  his  money,  for  he  had 
not  any.  I  knew  he  was  poor.  I  never  killed  him.  What 
should  I  kill  him  for?  I  knew  he  had  not  any  money. 

Mr  Fowle .  You  had  a  quarrel  with  him. 


174 


MICHAEL  POWERS. 


Powers.  I  had  a  lawsuit  with  him,  but  that  was  all  made 
up  before  I  left  Boston.  We  boarded  together.  I  am  not 
guilty  of  the  murder,  and  no  man  living  can  prove  it.  I  defy 
any  man  to  prove  it  against  me. 

Mr.  Fowle.  How  long  is  it  since  you  saw  Kennedy? 

Powers.  I  had  not  seen  him  for  some  time  before  I  left 
Boston — I  do  not  know  how  long  before. 

Mr.  Fowle.  Did  you  see  him  the  day  before  you  left  Bos¬ 
ton  ? 

Powers.  No:  he  was  not  in  my  house  that  day. 

Mr.  Fowle.  Why  did  you  leave  Boston? 

Powers.  Because  business  was  dull,  and  I  had  nothing  ta 
do.  I  was  going  to  Ireland  to  lay  brick,  and  had  engaged  my 
passage  to  Dublin. 

Powers  expressed  some  fear  of  losing  his  property  if  par¬ 
ted  from  it,  and  saw  it  taken  away  very  unwillingly.  In  due 
time  he  was  sent  to  Boston,  and  arraigned  on  the  thirty  first 
of  March  eighteen  hundred  and  twenty,  before  the  Supreme 
Court,  for  murder,  to  which  charge  he  pleaded  not  guilty. 
He  was  all  along  of  opinion  that  no  man  could  be  condemned 
on  presumptive  evidence,  a  fatal  yet  common  error.  Admit 
ting  such  a  principle  would  be  almost  equivalent  to  proclaim¬ 
ing  impunity  for  crime,  as  most  great  offences  are  perpetrated 
without  witnesses. 

In  addition  to  what  has  been  above  related  several  damning 
facts  were  proved  by  full  and  direct  testimony.  A  bill  found 
on  the  person  of  Powers  at  Philadelphia  had  belonged  to 
Kennedy.  His  apparel,  too,  was  identified  by  the  tailor  who 
made  it.  It  was  proved  that  the  day  after  Kennedy  was  last 
seen,  Powers  went  to  his,  Kennedy’s,  chamber  and  that  his 
trunk  was  found  a  few  days  after  unlocked  and  pillaged. 
Another  circumstance  bore  hard  against  the  prisoner.  About 
five  weeks  before  the  murder  he  went  to  the  house  where 
Kennedy  boarded,  to  board  himself.  At  dinner  the  mistress 
of  the  house  observed  that  they  did  not  speak  to  each  other, 
and  asked  Kennedy  the  reason.  He  answered  that  Powers 
v  as  an  old  villain  with  whom  he  had  had  a  lawsuit,  and  had 
not  spoken  the  truth.  She  offered  Powers  a  chamber  by  him¬ 
self,  and  urged  him  to  take  it,  but  he  refused,  preferring  to 
sleep  in  the  same  chamber  with  Kennedy.  The  next  day  he 
left  the  house.  About  a  week  before  the  murder  he  came 
there  again,  and  asked  the  mistress  if  she  would  board  him. 
She  replied  that  she  would,  but  when  he  found  that  Kennedy 
had  left  the  house,  he  went  away  and  did  not  return  again 


MICHAEL  POWERS. 


175 


Before  he  went  he  asked  if  Kennedy  had  any  money,  and 
seveial  other  questions.  From  these  circumstances  two  in¬ 
ferences  may  be  drawn;  that  Powers  was  determined  to  keep 
his  victim  in  sight,  and  to  learn  where  he  kept  his  property, 
in  order  to  rob  him. 

The  testimony  of  Susan  Campbell  merely  proved  that  she 
was  from  home  at  the  time  of  the  murder,  and  that  Powers’s 
house  was  much  exposed  to  observation  from  wk  hout. 

Several  witnesses  swore  that  Powers  had  several  times,  and 
in  direct  terms  threatened  the  life  of  Kennedy. 

Mrs.  Mary  Fowle  lived  in  part  of  the  same  house  with 
Powers.  She  heard  no  noise  in  Powers’s  apartment  on  the 
day  of  the  murder.  One  day  when  Susan  Campbell  came 
home,  her  daughter  looked  through  the  key  hole  and  saw 
Powers  come  up  from  the  cellar  before  he  admitted  the  said 
Susan. 

The  very  able  defence  made  by  the  prisoner’s  council  could 
avail  nothing  against  so  strong  and  perfect  a  chain  of  evi¬ 
dence.  After  a  deliberation  of  twenty  minutes  the  jury 
brought  in  a  verdict  of  guilty.  On  being  asked  if  he  had  any 
reason  to  show  why  sentence  of  death  should  not  be  pro¬ 
nounced,  Powers  rose,  and  addressed  the  court  in  a  foreign 
accent,  and  with  every  appearance  of  agitation  and  anger. 

“  I  think  the  court  very  dishonorable.  I  am  not  guilty.  It. 
has  not  been  proved  that  I  am  guilty.  If  there  was  one  wit¬ 
ness  that  proved  I  am  guilty  I  should  be  satisfied.  May  it 
please  your  honors,  I  am  dissatisfied.” 

The  chief  justice  then  pronounced  sentence  of  death;  and 
so  ended  a  trial  developing  a  degree  of  malignity  and  cruelty 
not  transcended  in  the  annals  of  crime.  The  excitement  of 
the  people  was  tremendous.  Even  while  the  prisoner’s  coun¬ 
sel  was  pronouncing  his  defence  a  tumult  took  place  at  the 
door,  and  one  of  the  ringleaders  was  brought  in,  and  committed 
for  a  contempt  of  court.  Reports  were  circulated  and  cur¬ 
rently  believed,  that  he  was  the  perpetrator  of  other  atrocious 
murders,  which  can  be  satisfactorily  disproved.  Nay,  he  was 
suspected  of  having  murdered  several  persons  whose  death 
was  occasioned  by  natural  causes. 

He  would  never  confess  that  he  had  murdered  Kennedy,  but 
gave  the  following  account  of  the  transactions  between  them. 
For  all  the  moneys  he  advanced  to  his  fellow  passengers 
from  Ireland  he  was  to  be  repaid  from  their  first  earnings. 
His  favors  were  received  with  thanks  and  every  appear¬ 
ance  of  gratitude.  He  was  delayed  some  weeks  in  Ireland 


176 


MICHAEL  POWERS. 


and  Liverpool  waiting  for  these  persons,  but  this  awaken¬ 
ed  no  ill  feeling  in  his  bosom,  as  he  was  ready  and  willing  to 
render  any  service  to  those  who  had  placed  their  fortunes 
under  his  guidance.  He  was  pleased  with  their  company, 
and  believed  they  would  feel  his  kindness,  but  in  this  he  was 
grievously  disappointed.  They  shunned  him,  or  if  they  did 
meet  him  accidentally,  treated  him  with  coolness  and  reserve. 
They  never  spoke  of  paying  him,  and  when  he  mentioned  the 
subject  repulsed  him  with  abuse.  At  last  he  resorted  to 
compulsory  measures,  and  the  decision  of  the  referees  en¬ 
raged  him  beyond  all  bounds,  for  as  each  had  told  his  own 
story  on  oath,  it  was  plain  the  referees  believed  Kennedy 
rather  than  him.  Therefore  he  conceived  himself  virtually 
convicted  of  perjury,  though  innocent,  while  Kennedy,  who 
had  defrauded  him,  was  esteemed  an  upright  man.  Moreover, 
Kennedy  wore  the  apparel  of  a  gentleman,  and  would  scarcely 
acknowledge  his  kinsman,  who  had  brought  him  to  this  coun¬ 
try  and  established  his  prospects  of  success  in  life.  Farther 
Powers  refused  to  disclose.  We  know  not  how  much  or  how 
litlle  credit  to  lend  this  statement,  but  if  we  utterly  disbelieve 
it,  it  takes  away  all  motive  for  the  crime  of  Powers,  and 
makes  him  a  literal  fiend,  doing  evil  for  evil’s  sake. 

Powers  forwarded  to  the  executive  a  petition  for  pardon, 
coupled  with  a  request  that  if  mercy  could  not  be  extended, 
his  execution  might  be  hastened.  It  was  in  vain.  He  then 
made  his  will,  by  which  he  distributed  his  property  among 
his  relations,  the  poor,  and  his  fellow  prisoners.  He  forgave 
all  his  enemies,  and  gave  a  small  sum  to  each  of  the  women 
who  had  testified  against  him  to  show  that  he  bore  no  malice. 
He  never  confessed  his  guilt,  which  was  needless,  as  it  was 
fully  proved;  but  at  the  same  time  he  did  not  attempt  to'con- 
vince  the  world  of  his  innocence.  All  he  said  was  u  No  one 
can  say  1 1  saw  him  do  it.’  ” 

Powers  suffered  at  the  appointed  time  with  firmness  and 
decency. 


SAMUEL  ANGIER. 


177 


ALPHEUS  LIVERMORE  AND  SAMUEL 

ANGIER : 

EXECUTED  FOR  THE  MURDER  OF  NICHOLAS  CREVAY,  AN  INDIAN 

These  cruel  and  wicked  men  were  workmen  in  a  nail  fac¬ 
tory  in  Stoneham.  The  unfortunate  man  they  murdered  was 
an  Indian  of  the  Penobscot  tribe.  He  had  for  some  time 
dwelt  at  St.  Francis  in  Canada,  where  he  married,  but  at  the 
outbreaking  of  the  last  war  returned  to  this  state  with  his 
wife.  He  was  known  to,  and  had  dealings  with  several 
American  citizens;  yet  fearing  to  be  considered  as  hostile  to 
his  country  and  tribe,  he  obtained  a  passport  from  a  militia 
officer  of  rank  in  New  Hampshire,  and  came  to  reside  with 
his  wife  on  the  borders  of  Spot  Pond  in  Stoneham.  This 
happened  a  few  days  before  he  was  slain.  He  erected  a  small 
cabin  and  lived  after  the  manner  of  the  descendants  of  the 
once  lords  of  the  soil;  that  is,  by  fishing,  fowling,  making 
brooms  and  other  small  wares  which  he  sold  to  the  whites. 
Being  like  most  vagrant  Indians  addicted  to  intemperance  he 
rendered  himself  obnoxious  to  his  neighbours  by  abusive  lan¬ 
guage,  &c.  The  day  preceding  the  night  he  was  murdered, 
he  was  insolent  to  certain  citizens  of  Malden,  and  was  severely 
beaten  by  them.  At  the  close  of  the  day  he  returned  to  his  hut. 

At  about  ten  o’clock,  as  he  was  lying  with  his  wife  on  their 
lowly  bed  of  hemlock  boughs,  several  guns  were  fired  into 
the  hut,  ancj  a  scene  took  place,  scarcely  surpassed  by  the 
barbarities  of  Crevay’s  unbaptized  ancestors.  The  poor 
Indian  was  shockingly  mangled  by  a  charge  of  large  nails, 
five  of  which  entered  his  body  and  limbs.  His  wife  was  shot 
through  the  body  by  one  or  more  musket  balls.  The  muzzle 
of  the  gun  from  which  they  were  discharged  must  have  been 
placed  in  close  contact  with  her  person,  as  her  clothes  and 
skin  were  burnt  and  blackened  by  the  explosion.  Yet  the 
miserable  and  mangled  wretches  escaped  in  this  agonized 
condition  into  the  woods,  where  they  remained  till  morning. 
They  were  then  traced  by  their  cries  and  groans,  and  carried 
to  the  house  of  a  physician,  where  everything  in  the  power 
of  humanity  was  done  for  their  relief.  The  woman  was  saved, 
but  the  man  died  of  his  hurts  after  enduring  the  most 
excruciating  tortures  for  six  days. 


178 


ALPHEUS  LIVERMORE. 


The  morning  after  this  most  shocking  massacre  several 
charges  of  nails,  bullets  and  small  shot  were  found  to  have 
passed  through  the  hut,  and  lodged  in  various  parts  of  it.  The 
boughs  on  which  the  sufferers  had  slept  were  wet  with  blood, 
and  fragments  of  cartridges  were  found  about  the  cabin.  This 
abominable  transaction  took  place  on  the  night  of  the  twenty- 
third  of  November  eighteen  hundred  and  thirteen. 

The  perpetrators  of  the  crime  were  four  in  number,  namely, 
the  two  whose  names  stand  at  the  head  of  this  article,  John 
Winch,  and  Mark  Packard.  On  the  twenty-third  of  Novem¬ 
ber  they  had  manifested  an  intention,  to  use  their  own 
language,  u  to  rout  the  Indians,”  who  were  guiltless  of  all 
offence  as  far  as  they  were  concerned.  In  the  evening  they 
were,  with  several  of  their  fellow  workmen,  at  a  grocery 
where  they  drank  freely.  After  this  they  returned  to  the 
factory,  where  they  remained  an  hour,  during  which  they 
avowed  to  their  companions  their  intention  of  attacking  their 
victims.  Livermore  loaded  a  musket  which  he  kept  in  the 
factory,  saying  he  should  go  armed.  Angier  procured  am¬ 
munition  and  arranged  his  gun  so  that,  as  he  said,  “  it  would 
go  completely.”  The  cartridges  procured  by  Angier  were 
made  of  a  paper  corresponding  exactly  with  the  pieces  found 
in  the  hut  the  next  morning.  Their  preparations  being  com¬ 
pleted,  they  avowed  their  object,  and  invited  their  fellows 
to  accompany  them,  and  on  being  refused,  Angier  reproached 
one  of  them  with  cowardice.  Winch,  too,  said  to  Livermore 
that  he  should  fire  “  nothing  lighter  than  lead.” 

They  then  set  out  for  the  hut  of  the  Indians,  which  was 
two  miles  distant.  About  the  time  they  might  conveniently 
have  arrived  guns  were  heard;  and  Crevay  was  slain  in  the 
moment  of  slumber,  harmless  and  inoffensive,  in  a  way  at 
which  humanity  shudders.  The  ruffian  assailants  left  the 
victims  weltering  in  their  blood,  and  fled.  Packard  escaped, 
but  the  others  were  taken.  They  were  brought  to  the  bar  of 
the  Supreme  Court  at  Cambridge  on  the  third  of  December 
following.  They  could  not  be  arraigned  because  there  were 
not  three  judges  present,  but  they  were  informed  of  the 
nature  of  their  indictment,  in  order  that  they  might  have  time 
to  prepare  for  defence. 

On  the  fifteenth  the  court  convened  and  an  indictment  for 
murder  in  the  first  degree  was  brought  against  the  prisoners, 
as  well  as  Packard  who  had  absconded.  They  pleaded  not 
guilty,  and  were  then  asked  if  they  would  join  in  their  chal¬ 
lenges.  They  replied  that  they  would,  provided  the  wife  of 


AND  SAMUEL  ANGIER. 


179 


Winch  might  be  permitted  to  testify  to  a  fact  not  in  any  way 
relating  to  her  husband.  The  Solicitor  General  refused  to 
consent  to  this,  and  Winch  was  therefore  remanded.  The 
trial  proceeded  against  Livermore  and  Angier  who  had  agreed 
to  join  in  their  challenges. 

The  fact  of  the  murder  was  proved  beyond  a  doubt,  and 
the  only  point  was  to  fix  the  guilt  upon  the  prisoners.  It  ap¬ 
peared  that  Crevay  declared  before  he  died  he  believed  Joe 
Hill  had  shot  him.  He  had  a  fire  in  his  cabin  at  the  time  he 
was  shot.  Suddenly  some  persons  came  in  and  told  him  they 
were  going  to  kill  him.  They  suited  the  action  to  the  word, 
as  has  already  been  seen. 

James  Hill,  who  lived  about  sixty  yards  from  the  hut,  tes¬ 
tified  that  at  about  fifteen  minutes  before  ten,  he  heard  the 
reports  of  three  guns  in  succession.  The  sounds  were  in  the 
direction  of  the  hut.  He  looked  out  and  saw  a  light  there, 
but  not  so  bright  a  one  as  was  usual.  Afterwads  three  more 
guns  were  heard.  Elizabeth  Hill,  the  sister  of  James,  bore 
witness  to  the  same  facts. 

Enoch  Huntress,  one  of  the  workmen  in  the  nail  factory, 
swore  that  Livermore  returned  to  the  factory  on  the  night  of 
the  murder  before  eleven  o’clock,  and  went  to  bed  as  usual, 
without  mentioning  the  outrage  he  had  been  engaged  in. 

Mrs.  W’inch  testified  that  Angier  boarded  at  her  house,  and 
that  he  came  home  and  went  to  bed  ten  minutes  before  ten 
the  night  fhe  Indians  were  shot.  She  was  positive  with  re¬ 
gard  to  the  time  from  the  circumstance  of  having  looked  at  a 
watch.  Winch’s  house  was  near  the  factory. 

The  rest  of  the  testimony  went  to  establish  the  facts  already 
given. 

Besides  the  usual  remarks  touching  the  fallacy  of  presump¬ 
tive  evidence,  the  prisoner’s  counsel  laid  much  stress  on  the 
testimony  of  Mrs.  Winch,  which,  if  believed,  would  prove  an 
alibi  in  the  case  of  Angier.  He  argued  also,  that  admitting 
the  testimony  of  Huntress  to  be  true,  it  was  scarcely  possible 
that  Livermore  could  have  been  one  of  the  actors  in  the 
tragedy.  He  closed  the  defence  by  insisting  strongly  on  the 
fact  that  neither  of  the  prisoners  had  been  seen  going  toward 
the  wigwam,  or  returning  from  it. 

The  chain  of  evidence  was  too  strong  to  leave  the  prisoners 
any  hope  of  escape,  and  the  jury,  after  a  deliberation  of  one 
nour,  returned  a  verdict  of  guilty.  When  the  prisoners  were 
asked  why  sentence  of  death  should  not  be  pronounced 
against  them,  their  counsel  moved  for  an  arrest  of  judgment 


180 


MOSES  ADAMS. 


on  the  ground  that  the  name  of  Fitch  Hall  was  first  drawn 
from  the  Jury  box  of  the  town  of  Medford,  returned  into  the 
box  by  the  selectmen,  and  that  the  name  of  Nathan  Bryant 
was  drawn  out  instead:  that  Bryant  was  returned  as  one  of 
the  traverse  jury,  and  was  one  of  the  twelve  who  tried  the 
prisoners.  The  counsel  contended  that  the  selectmen  had 
no  right  to  return  the  name  of  a  juror  to  the  box,  and  draw 
out  another,  save  in  cases  particularly  mentioned  in  the  stat¬ 
ute,  of  which  this  was  not  one. 

The  Solicitor  General  objected  to  any  inquiry  touching  the 
selection  arid  return  of  the  jurors  prior  to  the  venire  facias. 
The  court  were  unanimous  that  judgment  should  not  be 
arrested. 

The  prisoner’s  counsel  then  submitted  a  motion  for  a  new 
trial,  on  the  ground  that  the  jury  had  been  misdirected  re¬ 
specting  a  rule  of  evidence,  viz;  that  if  any  witness  for  the 
government  had  testified  unwillingly,  or  been  guilty  of  sup¬ 
pressing  the  truth,  his  whole  testimony  should  be  rejected. 
This  motion,  too,  was  over-ruled,  and  sentence  of  death  was 
pronounced. 

Winch  was  tried  and  acquitted,  for  want  of  sufficient  evi¬ 
dence,  though  there  was  no  moral  doubt  of  his  guilt. 

The  sentence  of  Livermore  and  Angier  was  commuted  for 
perpetual  incarceration  in  the  State  Prison. 


MOSES  ADAMS, 

HIGH  SHERIFF  OF  THE  COUNTY  OF  HANCOCK. 

On  the  twelfth  of  May  eighteen  hundred  and  fifteen,  Mrs. 
Mary  Adams,  wife  of  High  Sheriff  Moses  Adams,  was  found 
to  have  been  barbarously  murdered  in  her  own  house,  in 
Ellsworth,  Maine.  The  fact  was  first  discovered  by  her  own 
daughter,  a  little  girl,  who  immediately  gave  the  alarm.  On 
entering  the  neighbours  found  the  deceased  lying  on  her  right 
side  on  the  kitchen  floor.  An  axe  was  lying  near  her,  which 
had  evidently  been  the  instrument  of  slaughter.  There  was 
a  mortal  wound  on  the  back  part  of  the  head,  another  on  the 


Murder  of  Mrs. 


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MOSES  ADAMS* 


181 

neck,  whence  it  appeared  pieces  had  been  cut  entirely  out 
by  repeated  blows,  and  the  shoulder  was  broken.  The 
jugular  vein  was  divided,  and  some  joints  of  the  vertebra  were 
cut  wholly  away.  Mrs.  Adams  had  been  in  her  life  a  re¬ 
markably  mild,  amiable  and  discreet  lady,  and  this  horrible 
butchery  created  a  great  excitement,  as  may  easily  be  believ¬ 
ed.  Circumstances  concurred  to  direct  suspicion  toward  her 
husband  and  he  was  immediately  taken  into  custody.  On  the 
fifteenth  of  June  he  was  arraigned  before  the  Supreme  Court 
and  pleaded  not  guilty. 

Sewell  E.  Tuttle  swore  that  at  eight  in  the  morning  of  the 
day  Mrs.  Adams  was  killed  her  husband  walked  in  the  yard 
before  the  house,  entered,  went  out  again  and  walked  about  as 
before.  Between  twelve  and  one  he  came  home  to  dinner,  and 
sat  by  the  window  to  cool  himself.  He  appeared  very  warm. 
After  dinner  Tuttle  was  cutting  wood,  when  Doctor  Adams 
came  to  him  and  bade  him  go  for  meal  to  a  mill  about  two 
miles  off.  While  he  was  getting  the  bags  ready  he  saw  the 
Doctor  pass  from  the  house  to  the  barn.  Then,  going  in,  he 
saw  Mrs.  Adams  sitting  at  table  in  the  kitchen.  Doctor 
Adams  had  on  at  this  time  his  coat  of  office,  a  kind  of  uniform. 
When  Tuttle  got  back,  after  four  in  the  afternoon,  he  found 
twenty  or  thirty  people  assembled  in  the  house. 

Elizabeth  Rice  passed  by  Mr.  Adams’s  house  at  two  post 
meridian  and  saw  Mrs.  Adams  sitting  at  the  window.  She  i 
spoke  to  Mrs.  Adams  and  passed  on.  Wrhen  she  returned 
she  heard  Mrs.  Adams  was  dead,  and  saw  a  crowd  about  the 
house.  She  entered  and  saw  the  Doctor  sitting  on  the  side  of  I 
the  bed.  He  asked  her  if  it  were  not  a  dreadful  house.  / 
Being  requested  by  one  of  thd  family  to  put  the  moveables 
in  some  safe  place,  she  set  about  it,  but  found  the  tea  spoon^ 
missing.  As  she  was  afterwards  going  home  she  found  a 
newspaper  near  the  road  side,  but  threw  it  away  again.  It 
rained  that  night,  and  the  next  morning  Mrs.  Rice  informed 
a  Mr.  Nourse  where  the  newspaper  lay.  He  got  and  dried 
it.  At  the  request  of  Doctor  Adams,  she  assisted  to  wash 
his  family  linen,  among  which  was  a  shirt  with  one  of  the 
sleeves  stained,  whether  with  perspiration  or  otherwise  she  • 
could  not  tell. 

William  R.  Ginn  saw  Dr.  Adams  on  board  a  sloop  at  a 
wharf  at  quarter  past  twelve.  While  Ginn  was  at  dinner  he 
saw  the  Doctor  pass  toward  his  own  house.  After  dinner  he 
knocked  at  Ginn’s  door,  and  asked  for  a  segar.  After  that, 
a  little  before  four,  a  woman  came  and  said  that  Mrs.  Adams 


182 


MOSES  ADAMS. 


was  dead.  Ginn  immediately  went  to  the  house,  and  saw  the 
corpse,  in  the  condition  before  mentioned. 

Seeing  Doctor  Adams  coming  toward  the.  house,  Ginn 
went  forth  to  meet  him,  and  told  him  that  a  horrid  accident 
had  happened.  The  doctor  dismounted  from  his  horse,  and 
as  he  entered  stepped  in  the  blood.  A  bystander  advised  him 
not  to  step  in  the  blood,  to  which  he  replied,  “  Why  not?  It 
cannot  hurt  her  now.”  He  stepped  over  the  body,  put  his 
hand  on  it,  and  then  went  to  the  bed-room  door.  An  open  desk 
was  within.  He  put  his  hand  to  his  pocket  and  exclaimed, 
u  My  pocket-book  is  gone!”  Then  he  lifted  the  axe,  looked 
at  its  edge,  and  cried,  u  0  murderer!  murderer!”  As  he 
stooped  to  raise  the  body  Ginn  prevented  him.  “  Why 
not?  ”  said  he,  “there  are  witnesses  enough  who  have  seen 
her.”  The  body  was  then  raised  and  placed  on  a  bed. 

Benjamin  Jourdan ,  on  the  day  of  the  murder,  was  at  werk 
in  a  field  near  Doctor  Adams’s  hou$e,  when  he  was  informed 
by  the  prisoner’s  child  that  Mrs.  Adams  was  dead.  He  went 
immediately  to  let  Doctor.  Adams  know  the  fact,  and  he  was 
much  agitated  at  hearing  it. 

Between  two  and  three  o’clock  Maria  Moore  saw  Doctor 
Adams  going  toward  the  house  (Mr.  Langdon’s)  where  Ben¬ 
jamin  Jourdan  found  him.  He  walked  very  fast;  faster  than 
she  had  ever  seen  him  before,  and  as  he  went  he  turned  and 
looked  several  times  toward  his  own  house. 

Susan  Oakes  kept  a  school  near  Doctor  Adams’s  house. 
Between  two  and  three  o’clock  she  saw  the  prisoner  pass  the 
school,  walking  very  fast.  After  the  school  was  dismissed, 
as  she  was  in  the  field  hard  by,  she  heard  little  Mary  Adams 
scream,  and  say  her  mother  was  dead.  She  hastened  to  the 
house  and  found  Mrs.  Adams  dead,  but  not  yet  quite  cold. 
A  few  minutes  after  Doctor  Adams  came  in  and  exclaimed, 
“  O  horrid  murder!  ”  He  was  much  agitated,  took  his  little 
daughter  on  his  knees,  and  bade  her  imitate  the  good  example 
of  her  mother. 

It  will  bfc  observed  that  where  the  evidence  of  more  than 
one  witness  proved  the  same  fact,  we  do  not  repeat,  but  only 
give  as  much  as  goes  to  establish  or  elucidate  separate  facts. 

Alfred  Langdon  testified  that  at  about  half  past  two,  he,  from 
his  house,  saw  Doctor  Adams  pass.  In  about  ten  minutes  he 
veturned,  and  entered  the  kitchen  door.  He  had  so  much 
color  in  his  face,  and  prespired  so  freely  that  Langdon  notic¬ 
ed  it  and  asked  him  where  he  had  been.  He  answered  that 
he  was  right  from  home,  and  that  it  was  a  very  warm  day 


MOSES  ADAMS 


183 


•  After  some  commonplace  discourse  Adams  looked  at  the  clock 
and  observed  that  it  was  three,  but  Langdon  remarked  that 
it  wanted  ten  minutes  of  that  time.  Adams  then  took  up  an 
old  newspaper  and  by  the  time  he  had  looked  over  it  the  mail 
arrived,  about  quarter  past  four  o’clock.  Adams  assisted 
Mr.  Langdon  to  open  the  mail,  and  while  they  were  thus  oc¬ 
cupied  Jourdan  arrived  with  the  news  of  Mrs. 'Adams’s  death. 

Mr.  Daniel  Adams ,  on  hearing  of  the  murder  went  straight¬ 
way  to  Doctor  Adams’s  house,  and  found  him  sitting  by  the 
corpse  on  the  bed  side .  The  Doctor  shook  hands  with  him, 
saying,  “  I  hope  you  are  my  friend,”  to  which  the  witness  re¬ 
plied,  “  Whatever  I  may  have  been  heretofore,  I  am  now.” 
The  doctor  then  asked  if  they  were  going  to  let  the  wretch 
who  did  the  deed  escape,  and  added  that  it  was  toward  night, 
and  the  murderer  could  not  be  far  oft'.  The  witness  told 
the  prisoner  that  he  had  heard  he  had  been  robbed,  to  which 
he  assented,  and  it  appeared  from  the  conversation  that  fifteen 
dollars  and  a  number  of  silver  tea  spoons  were  missing.  The 
next  day  on  examining  the  prisoner’s  clothes,  the  witness  found 
a  blood  spot  on  a  button  of  the  coat,  and  an  appearance  of 
blood  on  the  lining. 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Nourse  testified  that  he  went  to  Doctor 
Adams’s  house  on  hearing  of  the  murder,  and  found  the  doc¬ 
tor  in  great  agitation  and  distress.  Among  other  things  Doc¬ 
tor  Adams  said,  u  Only  think — for  the  paltry  sum  of  two  hun¬ 
dred  dollars!  ”  This  the  witness  afterwards  understood  to  re¬ 
fer  to  the  robbery  said  to  have  been  committed.  The  prisoner 
also  said,  “  This  cannot  have  been  done  more  than  three  hours; 
and  is  nothing  to  be  done  to  apprehend  the  murderer?  I  can 
do  nothing.”  He  likewise  repeated  several  times  that  it  was 
an  awful  deed  to  have  been  done  in  a  Christian  land.  He 
told  Mr.  Nourse  at  first  that  he  had  lost  sixty  or  seventy  dol¬ 
lars,  which  had  been  wrapped  up  in  a  newspaper,  but  found 
upon  calculation  that  he  had  expended  all  but  fifteen.  The 
witness  afterwards  found  the  paper,  as  before  stated  by  Mrs. 
Rice,  and  showed  it  to  the  prisoner,  who  said  he  had  no  doubt 
it  was  the  same  that  had  contained  his  money.  When  Mr. 
Nourse  found  it  there  was  on  it  the  impression  of  a  dollar, 
that  had  apparently  been  wrapped  in  it. 

On  this  occasion,  Mr.  Nourse  did  not  see  Doctor  Adams 
shed  tears.  He  heard  him  say  to  his  daughter  that  she  never 
saw  him  shed  tears  before.  On  another  occasion,  after  Doc¬ 
tor  Adams  was  suspected,  but  before  he  was  examined  by 
a  magistrate,  the  witness  saw  him  weep. 


184 


MOSES  ADAMS. 


Sewell  Tuttle  did  see  the  prisoner  weep,  and  also  stated  that 
he  usually  perspired  very  freely. 

It  was  likewise  proved  that  a  little  before  the  murder  of  his 
wife  Doctor  Adams  had  practised  phlebotomy  on  Pelatiah 
Jourdan.  On  this  occasion  he  wore  his  sheriff’s  coat  and 
turned  up  the  sleeves. 

No  evidence  was  adduced  to  show  whether  the  prisoner 
had  lived  on  good  terms  with  his  wife  or  not. 

The  amount  of  fact  proved  seems  to  be  as  follows.  Be¬ 
tween  one  and  two  o’clock  Doctor  Adams  sent  his  hired 
man,  Sewell  Tuttle,  to  the  mill  for  meal.  When  Tuttle  de¬ 
parted  Mrs.  Adams  was  alive  and  well.  At  two  o’clock  she 
was  alive.  Between  two  and  three  o’clock  Doctor  Adams 
was  seen  walking  from  his  own  house  toward  Mr.  Langdon’s, 
very  fast  and  occasionally  looking  behind  him.  At  this  time 
the  prisoner’s  daughter  and  a  girl  who  lived  in  his  house  were 
both  in  school.  These  two  girls  went  home  after  the  school 
was  dismissed  and  found  Mrs.  Adams  dead.  On  his  way 
from  his  house  to  Mr.  Langdon’s  Doctor  Adams  passed  sev¬ 
eral  persons,  to  some  of  whom  he  stopped  and  spoke,  to  oth¬ 
ers  not.  At  half  past  two  Adams  passed  Mr.  Langdon’s 
house,  to  which  he  returned  and  entered  ten  minutes  after. 

He  was  much  heated,  and  remarked  that  it  was  three  o’clock, 
though  it  wanted  ten  minutes  of  that  hour.  After  he  was  in¬ 
formed  of  the  murder  he  stated  that  a  sum  in  specie  which 
had  been  wrapped  in  an  old  newspaper  had  been  taken 
from  his  house.  On  his  way  from  his  own  house  to  Mr 
Langdon’s  he  passed  through  a  certain  field.  In  this  field  was 
found  the  next  day  a  newspaper,  having  the  impression  of  a 
coin  on  it.  On  seeing  it,  he  was  confident  it  was  the  same 
that  had  contained  the  missing  money.  Stains  of  blood  were 
found  on  the  coat  he  that  day  wore,  which  might,  how¬ 
ever,  have  been  occasioned  by  his  coming  in  contact  with 
the  body  of  his  wife,  or  by  his  professional  practice.  All  the 
evidence  respecting  time  was  founded  merely  on  the  opinions 
of  the  witnesses,  who  differed  in  their  estimates.  Mr.  Lang¬ 
don’s  alone  was  founded  on  the  regularity  of  a  clock,  which 
might  have  been  wrong.  All  the  circumstances  together  did 
not  amount  to  indubitable  proof  of  guilt,  and  the  jury  return¬ 
ed  a  verdict  of  not  guilty. 


JAMES  TEED  AND  DAVID  DUNNING 


185 


JAMES  TEED  AND  DAVID  DUNNING. 

Mild  and  equal  laws,  promptly  and  humanely  executed,  are 
justly  considered  among  the  greatest  blessings  any  people 
can  enjoy  ;  at  the  same  time  they  are  an  indication  of  the  de¬ 
pravity  of  the  human  heart.  Were  all  mankind  honest  and 
upright,  there  would  be  no  need  of  locks  and  bolts,  of  prisons 
and  fetters,  of  laws  and  courts,  of  judgments  and  executions; 
if  every  one  followed  that  golden  precept  promulgated  by  the 
divine  founder  of  our  religion,  u  to  do  by  others  as  we  would 
that  they  should  do  by  us,”  we  should  all  sit  down  in  safety 
under  our  own  vines  and  fig  trees,  with  none  to  disturb  our  tran¬ 
quillity,  or  make  us  afraid.  But  in  the  present  lapsed  and  sin¬ 
ful  state  of  mankind,  when  the  greater  part  are  disposed  to 
do  evil  and  not  good  to  their  neighbours,  it  is  necessary  for 
the  peace  and  security  of  society  that  the  wicked  propensities 
of  our  hearts  should  be  restrained  by  good  and  wholesome 
laws  and  regulations,  whose  infraction  in  order  to  render  them 
efficacious  must  be  strictly  and  severely  punished.  Yet  the 
warning  that  is  given  by  the  laws,  and  the  terror  that  is  held 
out  by  punishments,  are  insufficient  to  prevent  the  commission 
of  crimes.  A  man  long  accustomed  to  wickedness  becomes 
callous  to  benevolent  feelings,  and  seems  to  take  a  pride  in 
breaking  through  the  bulwarks  of  law,  and  braving  the  dan¬ 
gers  before  him.  Knowing  these  things,  a  general  exertion 
should  be  made,  by  all  practicable  means,  to  stop  the  contin¬ 
uance,  and  prevent  the  increase  of  such  abominations ;  and 
as  example  has  a  more  powerful  effect  on  the  mind  than  pre¬ 
cept,  we  have  thought  proper  to  give  the  following  brief 
detail  of  a  most  horrid  murder,  and  the  lamentable  conse¬ 
quences  to  the  perpetrators. 

The  person  for  whose  murder  these  men  suffered,  was  Rich¬ 
ard  Jennings.  His  age  was  about  seventy,  and  he  resided  in 
Sugar  Loaf,  a  small  village  within  the  limits  of  Warwick, 
about  seven  miles  from  Goshen,  in  the  county  of  Orange 
His  character  among  his  neighbours  and  acquaintance  was 
far  from  being  amiable,  his  temper  was  sour  and  morose,  he 
was  avaricious,  niggardly,  and  hard  hearted  to  the  poor ; 
generally  engaged  in  law  suits,  and  on  the  whole  was  extremely 
troublesome  and  vexatious  to  the  society  with  which  he  was 

9 


186 


JAMES  TEED  AND  DAVID  DUNNING. 


connected.  We  should  have  spared  his  memory  these  recol¬ 
lections,  had  they  not  been  a  necessary  preliminary  to  the  fol¬ 
lowing  narrative. 

That  the  reader  may  correctly  understand  the  transaction, 
it  will  be  proper  to  take  a  concise  retrospect  of  some 
facts,  that  were  intimately  connected  with,  and  were  the  un¬ 
doubted  cause  of  the  fatal  results  that  ensued.  Several 
years  before,  a  Mr.  Teed,  since  deceased,  made  his  will,  in 
which  he  devised  all  his  property,  which  was  considerable,  to 
his  wife,  who  was  a  sister  of  Richard  J ennings,  during  the  con¬ 
tinuance  of  her  natural  life,  and  to  his  son,  James  Teed,  the 
reversion  of  fifty  acres  of  land,  being  part  of  the  estate, 
upon  the  death  of  his  mother.  This  will  was  considered, 
by  those  best  acquainted  with  the  family  concerns,  extreme¬ 
ly  partial  and  unjust.  The  estate,  during  the  life  of  the  father, 
had  been  much  incumbered  with  debts,  which  must  eventual¬ 
ly  have  reduced  the  family  to  poverty  had  it  not  been  for  the 
enterprise  and  persevering  industry  of  this  son;  but  he,  by  his 
diligence  and  economy,  in  a  few  years  paid  all  the  demands, 
and  cleared  the  estate  of  embarrassment.  It  was  natural, 
therefore,  for  young  Teed  to  cherish  an  idea  that  the  estate 
in  justice  belonged  to  him,  for  services  actually  performed,  in 
addition  to  his  general  right  as  the  natural  heir. 

After  the  death  of  the  elder  Mr.  Teed,  his  widow  and  son 
continued  for  some  time  to  reside  together  in  one  house. 
Under  these  circumstances,  and  deprived  of  his  paternal  in¬ 
heritance,  James  Teed  entered  into  life  under  all  the  disad¬ 
vantages  attendant  upon  poverty.  Yet  not  disheartened  by 
his  untoward  condition,  and  desirous  of  obtaining  a  comforta¬ 
ble  living,  by  industry,  he  engaged  with  zeal  and  earnestness 
in  business  ;  but  unfortunately  undertaking  more  than  he  was 
able  to  accomplish,  with  the  means  he  possessed,  he  was  in¬ 
volved  in  debts  beyond  his  ability  to  pay,  and  in  struggling  to 
extricate  himself  from  embarrassment  he  prevailed  on  his 
mother  to  release  to  him  her  right  in  the  fifty  acre  lot,  that  by 
possessing  the  same  free  and  clear  of  incumbrances  he  might 
be  at  liberty  to  borrow  the  money  he  needed  upon  a  mortgage 
of  the  land. — Jennings,  the  brother,  understanding  what  was 
proposed,  very  ungenerously  interfered,  and  prevailed  on  his 
sister  to  withhold  the  release,  and  taking  her  home,  she  lived 
with  him  the  remainder  of  her  life,  and  before  her  death  was 
induced  to  convey  all  her  right  to  the  estate  to  him.  The 
effect  of  these  unfriendly  proceedings  was  highly  injurious  to 
Teed,  who  would  probably  soon  have  extricated  himself  from 


JAMES  TEED  AND  DAVID  DUNNING. 


187 


difficulty,  could  he  have  obtained  the  loan  of  a  small  sum  ;  but 
being  unable  to  give  adequate  security,  he  was  soon  reduced 
to  the  greatest  distress.  Soon  after,  however,  he  conveyed  the 
land  to  David  Conkling,  whose  sister  he  had  married,  and  by 
the  pressure  of  his  debts,  was  induced  to  leave  the  country, 
and  was  absent  afout  two  years. 

In  the  meantime  Conkling  recovered  possession  of  the  land 
by  a  suit  at  law.  This  was  a  mortifying  stroke  to  Jennings, 
and  excited  all  his  virulent  passions  ;  he  therefore  commenc¬ 
ed  a  suit  against  Conkling  to  recover  back  the  premises. 
This  action  passed  through  the  several  stages  of  legal  proceed¬ 
ings,  and  was  terminated  in  November,  eighteen  hundred  and 
eighteen, agamst  Conkling;  and  Jennings  would  have  had  his 
writ  of  possession  in  January  succeeding. 

Several  years  elapsed  while  these  controversies  were  liti¬ 
gating  at  a  great  expense  of  time  and  money  to  the  parties, 
and  with  no  small  irritation  of  their  feelings.  Small  begin¬ 
nings  are  often  followed  by  serious  and  most  fatal  conse¬ 
quences  in  the  end.  No  doubt,  the  contention  about  a  piece 
of  land,  which  belonged  to  neither  of  the  litigants,  caused  the 
violent  death  of  one  and  the  utter  ruin  of  the  other. 

While  Jennings  and  Conkling  were  indulging  their  malig¬ 
nant  passions  in  this  contest,  they  were  perpetually  worrying 
each  other  in  controversies  of  minor  importance,  in  the  courts, 
and  before  justices  of  the  peace.  These  vexatious  proceed¬ 
ings,  indicating  a  deep  and  settled  hostility  on  the  one  side, 
produced  no  agreeable  feelings  on  the  other.  Such  violent 
and  persevering  animosity  was  offensive  to  their  families  and 
neighbours  ;  and  in  such  contentious  scenes  were  engendered 
those  malignant  passions  which  brought  about  the  most  atro¬ 
cious  crime  that  human  depravity  can  suggest.  A  spirit  of 
litigation  once  excited  in  minds  previously  disposed  to  conten¬ 
tion  seldom  ceases  but  with  the  destruction  of  property,  the 
depravation  of  moral  principle,  or  the  loss  of  life.  When,  as 
in  the  present  instance,  that  spirit  exists  among  neighbours  and 
relatives,  it  is  more  unrelenting,  persevering  and  destructive, 
than  among  strangers.  This  is  proved  by  daily  experience. 

After  explaining  the  causes  that  led  to  the  melancholy 
result,  we  will  give  a  concise  detail  of  the  transaction  itself, 
as  related  in  court,  and  shall  then  give  the  testimony  in  the 
words'  of  the  several  witnesses,  premising  a  short  account  of 
the  criminals,  and  the  reasons  they  each  had  for  engaging  in 
the  murder. 

David  Conkling  belonged  to  a  respectable  family,  possessed 


188  JAMES  TEED  AND  DAVID  DUNNING. 

a  decent  property,  and  before  this  event  sustained  a  good  char¬ 
acter.  The  great  loss  of  property,  and  the  irritation  of  his 
feelings,  from  his  long  controversy  with  Jennings,  and  ulti¬ 
mate  disappointment,  so  enraged  him  that  nothing  hut  the 
life  of  his  enemy  could  quiet  his  mind  ;  but  as  either  from 
cowardice  or  the  remains  of  the  moral  sense,  he  recoiled  at 
the  thought  of  doing  the  deed  himself,  he  resolved  to  employ 
an  assassin. 

From  what  has  been  already  said,  the  reasons  will  pretty 
plainly  appear  which  induced  Teed  to  wish  the  death  of  Jen¬ 
nings,  and  to  participate  in  the  murder.  He  was  a  man  of 
ambitious  feelings,  had  a  good  education,  and  more  than  or¬ 
dinary  talents.  It  was  peculiarly  mortifying  to  his  pride, 
and  aspiring  disposition,  to  be  kept  down  by  the  hard  hand  of 
Poverty,  and  compelled  to  drag  out  his  existence  on  a  level 
with  the  lowest  grades  in  society;  he  had  the  most  bitter  an¬ 
tipathy  against  the  man  whom  he  considered  as  the  wicked 
cause  of  his  degradation.  In  endeavouring  to  place  himself  in 
a  more  eligible  situation,  he  forgot  his  moral  obligations,  and 
while  plotting  the  death  of  Jennings,  procured  his  own. 

No  reason  can  be  given  why  Mrs.  Teed  intermeddled  in 
the  business,  but  her  connexion  with  her  husband,  her  inter¬ 
est  in  his  affairs,  and  the  obligation  she  was  under  to  follow 
his  directions.  All  this,  though  it  may  palliate  her  crime  in 
the  view  of  the  world,  is  by  no  means  a  justification. 

No  inducement  transpired  on  the  trials  sufficient  to  engage 
Dunning  to  assist  in  the  murder,  but  the  promise  of  Conkling 
to  pay  him  five  hundred  dollars,  and  the  prospect  that  Jen¬ 
nings  would  reap  the  grain  he  had  sown  on  the  land  the 
preceding  season,  while  improving  the  same  under  Conkling. 
These  reasons  were  sufficient  to  engage  an  ignorant  and  pas¬ 
sionate  wretch  to  take  away  the  life  of  a  fellow  being. 

Jack  Hodges,  the  last  of  the  conspirators,  wras  extremely 
ignorant,  but  possessed  a  strong  mind,  and  a  most  tenacious 
memory.  His  moral  conduct  in  general  was  unexceptionable, 
excepting  a  habit  of  intemperance.  It  was  owing  to  this  fail¬ 
ing  that  he  was  induced  to  engage  in  the  murder.  Conkling 
knew  his  foible,  and  that  its  indulgence  made  him  a  madman  ; 
The  means  to  obtain  his  end  were  easily  applied,  and  they 
produced  the  intended  effect. 

Jack  having  on  the  nineteenth  of  December  concluded  as  al¬ 
ready  observed,  to  commit  the  murder,  preparations  were  made 
at  Conkling’s,  who  lived  near  Goshen,  and  five  miles  from 
Teed’s.  On  Saturday,  Conkling  charged  his  gun  with  pow- 


JAMES  TEED  AND  DAVID  DUNNING.  189 

derand  shot  in  Jack’s  presence,  showing  him  how  to  load 
it  in  case  it  should  be  necessary;  and  having  given  him  all 
needful  instruction,  told  him  to  go  to  the  house  where  Teed 
and  Dunning  lived,  and  they  would  assist  him  in  killing  Jen¬ 
nings.  Jack  accordingly  left  Conkling’s  when  the  sun  was 
about  an  hour  high,  and  arrived  at  Teed’s  in  the  evening,  but 
to  his  great  disappointment  learned  that  he  had  gone  to  New 
York.  He  immediately  made  his  business  known  to  Dun¬ 
ning  and  Mrs.  Teed,  who  freely  conversed  with  him  on  the 
subject,  the  latter  telling  him  it  was  right  to  kill  the  old  fel¬ 
low,  as  he  deserved  to  die  for  his  conduct  to  them,  and  the 
latter  suggested  ways  and  means  to  carry  their  purpose  into 
effect;  one  of  which  was  to  go  to  Jenning’s  house  and  shoot 
him  through  the  window.  To  this  Jack  objected,  as  thereby 
they  might  injure  some  one  they  did  not  intend.  Mrs.  Teed 
treated  Jack  with  whiskey  as  soon  as  he  came,  and  told  him 
to  take  it  as  often  as  he  wanted,  for  there  was  plenty  of  it  in 
the  jug,  and  it  was  got  on  purpose  for  him. 

It  is  necessary  to  mention  here,  that  after  Jennings  had 
recovered  judgment  for  the  land,  in  November,  there  would 
be  a  month,  or  more,  during  which  Conkling  and  his  tenants 
Teed  and  Dunning,  would  continue  to  occupy  it,  before 
Jennings  could  obtain  his  writ  of  possession  in  January. 
This  interval  Conkling  determined  to  improve  in  the  best 
manner  he  could,  for  his  own  advantage;  he  therefore  direct¬ 
ed  Teed  and  Dunning  to  cut,  draw  away,  and  sell  as  much 
timber  as  possible  before  they  should  be  turned  out.  In  con¬ 
sequence  of  this  direction,  great  spoil  was  made  of  the  wood 
in  a  grove  on  the  premises.  Jennings  knew  what  was  doing, 
and  did  all  he  could  to  prevent  the  waste  of  his  property, 
but  to  little  or  no  purpose.  Early  on  the  morning  of  Mon¬ 
day  the  twenty-first  of  December  he  told  his  family  he 
would  go  and  see  what  was  doing  on  the  land,  and  walked 
away  accordingly.  In  going  to  the  wood  lot  he  had  to  pass 
the  house  of  Teed  and  Dunning,  and  as  he  was  going 
by  he  was  observed  by  Dunning,  who  went  into  Mrs.  Teed’s 
room  where  Jack  was,  and  told  him  of  it.  He  rose  from 
the  table  where  he  was  eating  breakfast  and  took  the  gun 
from  behind  the  door,  while  Mrs.  Teed  brought  him  the 
powder  and  shot,  and  gave  him  another  dram.  Jack  hesita¬ 
ted  about  going,  and  turning  to  Mrs.  Teed,  anxiously  asked 
her  if  it  was  necessary  to  proceed  in  the  business.  She 
replied  that  it  was  time  the  old  savage  was  out  of  the  world. 
Thus  encouraged  he  walked  away,  taking  a  direction  across 


190  JAMES  TEED  AND . DAVID  DUNNING. 

\ 

the  fields  to  the  woods,  while  Dunning  followed  Jennings 
round  in  the  road;  and  when  Jack  came  on  the  ground,  he  saw 
Jennings  and  Dunning  talking  together.  He  went  toward 
*  them,  and  when  within  a  short  distance  Jennings  asked  Jack 
if  he  had  assisted  in  cutting  the  timber.  He  told  him  he  had, 
then  turned  his  back  towards  them  and  cocked  his  piece. 
Dunning  at  the  same  time  walked  away  from  Jennings,  who 
probably  suspecting  from  these  movements  something  of  the 
truth,  asked  Jack  if  the  gun  was  loaded.  Jack  said  it  was 
not,  and  instantly  taking  aim,  fired  at  his  head,  at  the  distance 
of  ten  feet,  and  Jennings  fell  back  on  his  seat.  The  shot 
took  effect  on  one  side  of  the  face,  near  the  eye,  and  glanc¬ 
ing,  took  off  part  of  the  ear.  /  In  the  opinion  of  the  surgeon, 
who  afterwards  examined  the  body,  the  shot  wound  was  not 
mortal.  Jack,  on  seeing  thfi  condition  that  Jennings  was 
in,  and  reflecting  upon  what  he  had  done,  was  horror  struck, 
and  was  about  to  go  away,  when  Dunning  ran  to  him,  and 
seizing  the  gun,  exclaimed,  “  D — n  him,  he  is  not  dead  yet; 
will  you  undertake  a  piece  of  business,  and  not  finish  it?” 
and  going  hastily  to  Jennings,  struck  him  several  times  with 
the  gun,  till  the  stock  was  broken  to  pieces,  and  Jennings 
was  quite  dead.  It  appeared  on  examination  that  the  skull 
was  extensively  fractured  in  the  forehead,  and  that  death  was 
evidently  the  effect  of  the  blows.  Dunning  then  collected 
the  fragments  of  the  gun,  gave  them  to  Jack,  and  they  re¬ 
turned  to  the  house  by  different  ways,  as  they  came.  Jack 
told  Mrs.  Teed  that  he  had  killed  Jennings.  She  appeared 
pleased,  and  again  treated  him.  He  staid  about  the  house 
that  day,  and  at  two  in  the  morning  returned  to  Conkling’s, 
when  telling  what  he  had  done,  he  gave  him  the  remnants 
of  the  gun. 

The  place  where  the  murder  was  committed  was  an  open 
field,  in  plain  view  of  the  road  and  several  dwelling  houses. 
Dunning’s  almost  daily  business  was  to  draw  wood  from  the 
same  field,  and  within  a  few  rods  of  the  mangled  body.  It  was 
owing  to  a  singular  practice  of  the  deceased,  that  the  body  was 
not  found  till  the  twenty-eighth  of  December,  a  week  after 
the  murder.  He  often  left  home  upon  some  trifling  affair  that 
might  be  done  in  a  short  time,  was  absent  several  days,  and 
gave  no  account  of  his  business,  or  what  detained  him  so 
long.  The  family,  therefore,  were  not  concerned  at  his  ab¬ 
sence  till  the  last  of  the  week,  when  they  became  uneasy,  and 
inquired  at  those  places  where  they  might  expect  to  hear  of 
him;  but  as  their  inquiries  were  vain,  the  people  of  Warwick 


JAMES  TEED  AND  DAVID  DUNNING. 


191 


agreed  to  make  a  thorough  search  the  next  day.  The  people 
assembled  accordingly  at  Sugar  Loaf,  and  obtaining  such 
information  as  the  family  and  others  could  give,  or  was  sug¬ 
gested  by  the  circumstances  of  the  case,  they  took  various 
directions,  and  the  body  was  soon  found  in  the  condition  that 
has  been  mentioned.  A  jury  of  inquest  was  held  on  the 
body,  by  John  Curtice,  one  of  the  coroners  of  Warwick.  A 
large  number  of  witnesses  were  examined  by  the  jury,  and 
upon  due  consideration  of  all  the  evidence  before  them  gave 
a  verdict,  u  That  Richard  Jennings  was  murdered  by  Jack 
Hodges,  and  that  David  Conkling  and  David  Dunning  were 
accessaries.”  The  two  last  were  immediately  committed  to 
prison,  and  soon  after  James  Teed,  and  Hannah  Teed  his 
wife,  followed  them,  but  the  last,  in  consideration  of  her  pe¬ 
culiar  condition,  was  in  a  few  dhys  admitted  to  bail. 

Strenuous  endeavours  had  been  made  by  Conkling,  immedi¬ 
ately  after  the  murder,  to  persuade  Jack  to  go  away,  but  he 
continued  to  loiter  about,  apparently  unconcerned,  till  Satur¬ 
day,  when  by  the  joint  persuasion  of  Conkling  and  Teed,  he 
departed;  but  was  so  dilatory  in  his  movements,  that  though 
he  left  Goshen  at  noon  he  did  not  reach  Newburg,  a  distance 
of  only  twenty  miles,  till  sunset  the  next  day.  Fearing  that 
Jack  would  not  make  his  escape  with  sufficient  expedition, 
Teed  went  after  him  on  Sunday,  and  overtook  him  before  he 
reached  Newburgh.  They  staid  there  that  night,  and  Teed  saw 
him  on  board  the  ferry  boat  before  he  returned.  Jack  pur¬ 
posed  to  go  to  New  York,  and  ship  for  sea  as  soon  as  possi¬ 
ble,  and  to  promote  his  views  he  had  a  letter  of  recommenda¬ 
tion  from  Conkling  to  a  friend  of  his  in  New  York.  Jack, 
therefore,  after  crossing  the  river,  took  the  road  over  the 
Highlands  towards  that  city,  but  after  travelling  a  few  miles, 
he  heard  of  a  sloop  at  Cold  Spring  Landing,  opposite  West 
Point,  that  was  soon  to  sail  for  New  York;  he  went  thither, 
agreed  for  his  passage  on  Tuesday,  and  arrived  at  New- 
York  on  Wednesday. 

In  the  meantime  vigorous  measures  were  taking  at  Goshen 
and  the  vicinity,  to  find  and  apprehend  Jack.  Two  parties 
went  in  pursuit  of  him  on  Tuesday.  One  of  them  went  to 
Newburgh  in  his  track,  crossed  the  river,  and  traced  him  to 
Cold  Spring  Landing,  but  finding  he  was  gone  to  New  York, 
followed  with  all  possible  expedition.  Arriving  there  early  on 
Thursday  morning,  they  arrested  him  as  he  was  coming  out  of 
the  vessel  on  an  errand  for  the  captain.  They  first  took  him 
before  the  city  police,  and  then  entered  a  vessel  and  sailed  to 


192 


JAMES  TEED  AND  DAVID  DUNNING. 


Haverstraw.  Jack  denied  any  knowledge  of,  or  participation 
in  the  Murder,  but  appeared  greatly  distressed.  He  contin¬ 
ued  steady  in  his  denial,  resisting  the  solicitation  and  advice 
of  his  attendants  till  the  latter  part  of  the  ensuing  night,  when 
he  made  a  full  confession,  and  gave  a  minute  relation  of  the 
whole  transaction.  This  story,  which  we  shall  give  at  length 
in  its  place,  he  never  varied  from  afterwards,  but  repeated  it 
steadily  in  all  the  subsequent  conversations  and  critical  ex¬ 
aminations  in  court.  At  Haverstraw  a  wagon  was  procured 
and  the  prisoner  was  conveyed  to  Goshen,  where  he  arrived 
on  Saturday  the  second  of  January  eighteen  hundred  and 
nineteen.  He  was  examined  by  five  magistrates  and  commit¬ 
ted  to  prison. 

Jack  Hodges  was  a  principal  witness  in  all  the  trials.  He 
told  the  story  first  to  those*  who  took  him  in  New  York, 
afterwards  repeated  it  to  five  magistrates  in  Goshen,  who 
wrote  it  down,  and  testified  on  the  stand  in  the  several  trials. 
The  following  statements  are  answers  to  questions  put  to  him, 
which  will  account  for  the  sentences  being  short  and  not  con- 
nected. 

He  said,  u  A  year  ago  last  harvest,  Teed  told  me  I  was  a 
fit  person  to  destroy  Jennings.  Sometime  last  fall  Conkling 
said,  after  Jennings  had  been  with  him,  he  wished  he  had 
killed  him,  and  thrown  him  int<?  the  brook  ;  and  the  same 
evening  Conkling  requested  me  to  kill  him.  During  the 
court  last  November  Conkling  and  Teed  both  said  they 
wanted  Jennings  murdered,  and  wished  I  would  do  it.  Sev¬ 
eral  times  after  court  they  both  spoke  to  me,  and  told  me  not 
to  let  my  mind  fail  me,  for  I  should  have  spirits  enough,  that 
Teed  and  Dunning  would  assist  me,  and  if  I  would  go,  he 
would  divide  a  thousand  dollars  between  Dunning  and  me. 
On  the  Thursday  before  the  murder  Conkling  and  Teed  took 
me  out  under  the  hovel,  and  after  half  an  hour’s  conversation, 
I  agreed  to  go  to  Teed’s  on  Saturday  and  kill  Jennings.  They 
promised  to  give  Dunning  and  me  one  thousand  dollars  for 
doing  it.  On  Saturday  Conkling  loaded  the  gun  in  the  cellar 
kitchen,  and  showed  me  how  to  do  it.  When  the  sun  was  about 
an  hour  high,  I  went  towards  Teed’s  with  the  gun,  and  got 
there  about  eight  o’clock.  Teed  was  gone  to  New-York.  I 
conversed  freely  with  Dunning  and  Mrs.  Teed  about  the  mur¬ 
der.  They  both  approved  of  it,  and  Dunning  said  he  would 
assist  me.  Mrs.  Teed  gave  me  whiskey,  and  told  me  to  help 
myself  when  I  wanted,  out  of  a  jug  which  she  showed  me. 
I  eat  in  Mrs.  Teed’s  room,  though  Dunning  asked  me  several 


i 


JAMES  TEED  AND  DAVID  DUNNING.  193 

times  to  eat  with  him.  The  next  day  Mrs.  Teed  went  to  meet¬ 
ing,  and  told  me  to  make  free  use  of  the  whiskey.  Monday 
morning,  when  I  was  at  breakfast  and  about  half  done,  Dun¬ 
ning  came  in  and  told  me  that  Jennings  was  going  by.  I 
rose  from  the  table,  took  the  gun,  and  asked  Mrs.  Teed  for 
the  powder  and  shot,  and  some  whiskey,  which  she  gave  me. 
I  went  out  and  saw  Dunning  following  at  a  small  distance.  I 
•went  across  lots  by  the  still  house.  When  I  got  to  the  wood 
lot  Dunning  and  Jennings  were  talking  together  and  coming 
towards  me.  When  they  drew  nigh  Jennings  asked  me  if  I 
had  assisted  to  cut  his  timber.  I  told  him  I  had.  Dunning 
walked  away  from  Jennings.  I  then  turned  my  back  towards 
them,  and  cocked  the  gun.  Jennings  asked  me  if  it  was 
loaded.  I  told  him  it  was  not.  I  then  levelled  the  gun  and 
fired  it  at  his  head,  and  he  fell  back  on  his  seat.  Dunning 
then  ran  to  me,  saying,  “  D — n  him  he  is  not  dead  yet — will 
you  undertake  a  piece  of  business  and  not  finish  it?”  He 
then  took  the  gun  and  struck  Jennings  on  the  head  several 
times,  he  groaning  bitterly  at  every  stroke.  The  gun  stock 
broke  to  shivers  by  the  blows,  and  he  picked  up  the  pieces 
and  gave  them  to  me.  We  then  parted,  and  I  went  to  the 
house  as  we  came.  I  told  Mrs.  Teed  what  we  had  done;  she 
smiled  and  treated  me.  I  staid  about  there  all  day,  not  choos¬ 
ing  to  be  seqn  carrying  a  broken  gun,  and  at  two  o’clock  the 
next  morning  left  Teed’s,  and  came  to  Conkling’s  at  day 
”ght,  and  put  the  pieces  of  the  gun  under  my  bed.  Conkling 
got  up,  and  went  down  into  the  kitchen  and  asked  me  if  I  had 
done  the  business  he  sent  me  to  do,  and  I  told  him  I  had.  I 
then  gave  him  the  broken  gun,  the  powder  and  shot,  and  began 
to  tell  him  how  we  had  killed  Jennings,  but  he  told  me  he 
did  not  wish  to  hear  it.  I  laid  down  and  slept  part  of  that 
day,  and  the  next  morning  Conkling  told  me  he  was  afraid  the 
murder  would  be  found  out,  and  wished  I  would  go  away. 
Conkling  frequently  urged  me  to  go  away,  till  I  did  go  on 
Saturday  about  noon.  Conkling  then  gave  me  ten  dollars, 
and  a  letter  to  Mr.  Adair,  an  acquaintance  of  his  in  New 
York.  '  I  left  my  clothes,  which  Conkling  said  he  would  send 
to  me  at  New  York,  and  went  through  Chester,  and  staid  at 
Isaac  Hallock’s  that  night.  I  went  on  the  next  day,  and  just 
as  I  was  entering  Newburgh,  Teed  overtook  me,  riding  on 
Conkling’s  mare.  He  reproved  me  for  not  going  faster,  and 
told  me  to  keep  sight  of  him  and  come  into  the  house  where 
I  should  see  him  stop.  I  slept  that  night  with  a  black  family 
in  the  village,  and  saw  Teed  the  next  morning  at  the  ferry 

9* 


194 


JAMES  TEED  AND  DAVID  DUNNING. 


stairs.  He  hurried  me  on  board  the  boat,  and  told  me  he 
would  see  me  in  New  York.  I  crossed  the  river,  and  took 
the  road  over  the  High  Lands  to  New  York.  At  Lobdell’s 
tavern  I  heard  of  a  wood  sloop  at  Cold  Spring  Landing,  about 
to  sail  to  New  York.  I  went  there,  and  the  captain  agreed 
to  carry  me  for  my  work  on  board.  We  arrived  at  New-York 
on  Wednesday,  and  when  I  was  going  into  the  city  to  buy 
some  articles  for  the  captain  on  Thursday,  I  was  arrested  and 
brought  back  to  Goshen.  I  denied  at  first  that  I  was  concern¬ 
ed  in  the  murder,  but  before  we  left  the  vessel  I  told  all  I 
knew  about  it.” 

Charles  B.  Durland  said,  “  I  was  one  that  went  in  pursuit 
of  Jack.  We  heard  of  him  at  Newburgh,  where  we  staid  on 
Tuesday  night.  The  next  morning  we  crossed  the  river  and 
took  different  routs,  till  we  heard  of  him  at  Lobdell’s  tavern, 
and  that  he  was  gone  to  Cold  Spring  Landing.  We  went  there, 
and  finding  the  sloop  had  sailed,  proceeded  with  all  speed  to 
New  York,  where  we  arrested  him  on  Thursday  and  brought 
him  to  Goshen.  In  the  relation  he  gave  us  on  board  the 
sloop,  his  account  of  the  affair,  in  everything  material,  is  ex¬ 
actly  the  same  as  his  testimony  before  the  court.” 

Joshua  Terry  said,  “  I  keep  a  tavern  in  Newburgh,  on  the 
east  side  of  the  street,  in  a  yellow  house,  and  recollect  that 
Teed  and  Jack  were  there  at  the  time  he  mentions.” 

Noble  Howell  said,  u  I  found  a  gun  lock,  and  some  broken 
pieces  of  the  stock  near  where  the  body  was  found.” 

Samuel  S.  Seward  said,  “  I  am  a  surgeon  and  examined  the 
head  on  Tuesday,  and  judge  that  the  wound  on  the  side  of 
the  head  was  not  mortal,  but  his  skull  was  deeply  fractured  in 
the  forehead,  which  could  not  be  done  without  causing  death.” 

Samuel  J.  Wilkin  said,  “  I  have  heard  Jack’s  testimony  in 
court,  and  find  it  comport  very  exactly  with  the  statement  on 
hie  examination.” 

William  McWhorter  said,  u  Dunning  told  me  he  saw  Jen¬ 
nings  on  Monday  morning,  and  weht  with  him  as  far  as 
Knap’s  bars,  on  the  way  to  where  the  murder  was  committed.” 

A  number  of  respectable  witnesses  testified,  that  they  had 
often  heard  the  prisoner  wish  Jennings  dead — and  say  that 
it  would  be  no  harm  to  kill  him — that  they  would  as  lief  kill 
him  as  a  Squirrel — that  they  would  give  [various  sums  men¬ 
tioned]  to  any  one  who  would  kill  him,  and  other  expressions 
of  similar  import. 

Jack  Hodges  was  the  most  important  witness  on  these 
trials;  his  testimony  was  direct  and  positive,  and  went  directly 


JAM^S  TEED  AND  DAVID  DUNNING. 


195 


t.o  the  crimination  of  the  other  prisoners.  He  was  critically 
and  thoroughly  examined  several  times,  and  uniformly  told  a 
rational  and  consistent  story.  In  one  of  the  trials  he  was 
more  than  seven  hours  uninterruptedly  under  examination, 
when  he  was  sifted  and  criticised  with  all  the  skill  and  dexter¬ 
ity  of  the  counsel,  and  no  essential  deviation  or  inconsisten¬ 
cy  was  detected  in  any  part  of  his  long  and  tedious  statement 
His  story  was  also  confirmed  in  many  important  particulars, 
as  well  by  the  confessions  of  the  prisoners,  as  the  testimony 
of  other  and  unimpeachable  witnesses.  On  the  whole,  there 
was  such  a  frankness,  and  appearance  of  truth  and  candor,  in 
his  whole  demeanor,  that  the  court  and  the  spectators  gener¬ 
ally  were  fully  satisfied  of  the  correctness  of  his  story,  and 
that  implicit  reliance  might  safely  be  placed  thereon.  Judge 
Van  Ness  told  the  convicts  in  his  final  address  to  them,  u  Tbac 
they  had  been  convicted  on  testimony  satisfactory  to  his 
mind.” 

On  the  twenty-thiru  of  February,  a  Special  Court  of  Oyer 
and  Terminer  was  held  at  Goshen,  at  which  the  following  in¬ 
dictments  were  found.  Against  Jack  Hodges,  as  a  principal 
in  the  murder  of  Richard  Jennings;  against  David  Dunning, 
as  principal,  and  accessary  before  and  after  the  fact;  against 
James  Teed,  as  an  accessary,  before  and  after  the  fact;  against 
David  Conkling,  as  an  accessary,  before  and  after  the  fact; 
and  against  Hannah  Teed,  as  an  accessary  before  and  after  the 
fact.  On  which  indictments,  being  arraigned,  they  severally 
pleaded  not  guilty. 

They  were  then  set  to  the  bar  severally  to  be  tried.  The 
trial  of  Jack  Hodges  took  place  on  Friday  the  26th  of  Feb¬ 
ruary,  and  the  jury  after  hearing  the  cause,  retired,  and  in 
about  an  hour,  returned  into  court  with  a  verdict  of  guilty. 

On  the  same  day  commenced  the  trial  of  James  Teed, 
which  was  continued  from  day  to  day,  until  Thursday  the 
fourth  of  March,  when  the  cause  was  given  to  the  jury,  who 
in  fifteen  minutes  pronounced  the  prisoner  guilty. 

The  trial  of  David  Conkling  began  on  the  same  day,  and 
was  continued  from  day  to  day,  until  Monday  the  eighth  of 
March,  when  the  jury  retired,  and  the  next  morning  at  the 
opening  of  the  court,  delivered  a  verdict  of  guilty. 

On  the  19th  of  March,  Hannah  Teed  was  brought  into 
court,  and  upon  motion  of  her  counsel,  and  leave  obtained, 
she  retracted  her  plea  of  not  guilty  to  the  charge  of  being  ac¬ 
cessary  after  the  fact,  and  plead  guilty;  the  District  attorney 
then  entered  a  nolle  prosequi  upon  the  charge  of  being  acces¬ 
sary  before  the  fact. 


196  JAMES  TEED  AND  DAVID  DUNNING. 

t 

The  trial  of  David  Dunning  then  commenced,  and  was 
continued  until  the  10th  of  March,  when  he  was  pronounced 
guilty  by  the  jury. 

On  Thursday  the  11th  of  March,  the  five  convicts  were 
brought  into  court  to  receive  sentence.  Hannah  Teed  was 
first  called,  to  whom  the  court  observed,  that  though  strict  law 
would  inflict  a  much  severer  punishment  for  her  crime,  yet  as 
the  purposes  of  justice  would  be  as  well  answered,  the  court 
out  of  feelings  of  humanity,  tenderness  to  her  sex,  and  a 
regard  to  the  delicacy  of  her  situation,  had  concluded  to  sen¬ 
tence  her  only  to  a  nominal  punishment,  which  was  u  That 
she  should  be  imprisoned  in  the  county  gaol  for  one  month.’ 

yhe  other  convicts  were  then  called  up,  and  Judge  Van 
.Ness  after  addressing  them  in  a  solemn  and  pathetic  manner, 
pronounced  on  them  the  sentence  of  the  law,  which  was 
“  That  they  be  taken  from  hence,  to  the  place  whence  they 
came,  and  thence  to  the  place  of  execution  on  Friday 
the  sixteenth  day  of  April  next,  and  there,  between  the 
hours  of  .two  and  three,  be  hanged  by  the  neck  till  they  are 
dead.”  And  that  after  the  execution,  “the  body  of  Jack 
Hodges  be  delivered  to  the  president  of  the  Medical  Society 
of  Orange  county  for  dissection.” 

Previous  to  the  day  appointed  for  the  execution  of  tffe  mur¬ 
derers  of  Richard  Jennings,  two  of  the  convicts,  David  Conk- 
ling  and  Jack  Hodges,  had  their  sentence  commuted,  by  the 
legislature,  into  confinement  at  hard  labor  in  the  state’s  pris¬ 
on,  the  former  for  life,  and  the  latter  for  twenty-one  years. 

On  the  16th  day  of  April,  eighteen  hundred  and  nineteen, 
James  Teed  and  David  Dunning  were  executed  at  Goshen,  pur¬ 
suant  to  their  sentence,  for  the  murder  of  Richard  Jennings 
The  prisoners  were  taken  from  the  gaol,  and  conducted  to  the 
place  of  execution  at  twelve  o’clock,  under  a  strong  guard  of 
infanty  and  dragoons.  Sheriff  Burnet,  after  reading  the 
death  warrants  of  the  four  convicts,  Conkling,  Teed,  Dun¬ 
ning,  and  Jack,  and  the  reprieves  of  Conkling  and  Jack, 
addressed  the  assembled  multitude,  in  a  most  feeling  and  pa¬ 
thetic  manner,  in  the  following  words. 

u  It  is  more  than  thirty  years  since  any  person  in  the  coun¬ 
ty  has  suffered  the  last  pain  of  the  law  for  the  crime  of  murder. 

u  I  am  now,  however,  called  to  the  performance  of  a  necessa¬ 
ry,  but  painful  duty,  appertaining  to  my  office:  I  hope  I  shall 
discharge  it  with  the  feelings  that  become  me.  Let  me  re¬ 
quest  your  attention  for  a  few  moments,  before  the  commence¬ 
ment  of  that  awful  spectacle  which  will  engross  every  power 
and  bind  up  every  faculty  in  terror  and  commiseration. 


JAMES  TEED  AND  DAVID  DUNNING. 


197 


“  The  cause  which  stirred  up  the  vindictive  passions  of  the 
unfortunate  men  you  now  behold,  was  in  itself  trifling — in  its 
consequences  how  tremendous!  An  aged  and  infirm  man,  in 
an  unsuspecting  moment,  was  the  first  victim  of  violence,  and 
they,  the  authors  and  contrivers  of  his  death,  are  now  about  to 
become  the  necessary  sacrifice  offered  by  the  law,  for  the  ex¬ 
ample  and  for  the  safety  of  all.  Doomed  to  death  in  the 
midst  of  health,  in  the  prime  of  life — taken  in  a  moment  from 
the  most  endearing  connexions;  from  wives  and  children — in 
agony  and  in  shame  they  go  to  those  dark  and  mysterious  abodes, 
where  penitence  is  unavailing,  reformation  impossible,  and 
their  punishment  eternal.  By  your  serious  and  orderly  conduct, 
let  the  lesson  of  their  punishment  have  its  full  effect — give  to 
them  your  pity — let  them  have  your  prayers:  By  the  inexora¬ 
ble  decree  of  that  law  they  have  dreadfully  violated,  it  is  all 
they  can  ask — it  is  all  you  can  grant. 

u  And  may  God  have  mercy  on  their  souls!” 

Divine  service  was  then  performed  by  the  reverend  gen¬ 
tlemen  present,  and  a  solemn  and  appropriate  discourse  was 
delivered  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Fisk,  from  Numbers,  xxxii,  23. 
Teed  was  extremely  affected,  and  seemed  to  be  in  an  agony  of 
distress.  He  prayed  audibly  and  fervently  fifteen  minutes, 
and  then  earnestly  exhorted  all  to  take  warning  by  his 
miserable  end,  and  avoid  those  wicked  practices  which  had 
justly  brought  him  to  an  untimely  and  shameful  death.  Dun¬ 
ning  acknowledged  the  justice  of  his  sentence,  but  declared  to 
the  last,  that  he  did  not  strike  Jennings  as  testified  by  Jack. 
At  half  past  two  the  drop  fell,  and  the  unhappy  men  expired. 
The  sheriff  behaved  with  great  humanity  and  propriety  on 
the  affecting  occasion.  No  accident  occurred,  though  the 
number  of  spectators  was  estimated  at  twenty  thousand  or 
upwards. 

The  community,  on  a  review  of  the  whole  of  this  interest¬ 
ing  case,  appeared  to  be  impressed  with  a  great  similarity  of 
feeling  and  opinion.  A  bold  and  atrocious  murder  had  been 
committed;  those  charged  with  the  crime  had  had  a  fair  and  im¬ 
partial  trial;  the  Court,  and  all  its  attendants  manifested  un¬ 
wearied  patience  through  the  tedious  investigations,  and  every 
indulgence,  that  the  condition  of  the  prisoners,  or  humanity 
required,  was  fully  granted,  and  their  conviction  and  con¬ 
demnation  accorded  with  their  deserts.  There  is  also  but 
one  sentiment  respecting  the  commutation  of  the  punishment 
of  Conkling  and  Jack,  and  the  execution  of  the  others;  it  is 
believed  that  if  such  a  measure  was  expedient,  the  selection 


_  19$ 


GEORGE  COOMBS. 


of  the  legislature,  made  from  partial  and  incorrect  representa¬ 
tions,  was  erroneous;  it  would  have  given  greater  satisfaction 
to  the  public,  had  all  the  convicts  shared  the  same  fate,  either 
of  commutation  or  execution;  but  if  a  distinction  were  prop¬ 
er,  Conkling  was  the  first  of  the  four  who  ought  to  have  been 
set  apart  for  execution;  for  he  was,  beyond  a  doubt,  the  orig¬ 
inal  contriver,  instigator,  and  promoter  of  the  murder,  which 
never  would  have  taken  place  had  it  not  been  by  his  procure¬ 
ment.  This  is  the  universal  opinion. 


GEORGE  COOMBS. 

This  person  was  a  seaman  by  profession,  and  served  in  the 
navy  of  the  United  States  through  the  late  war.  He  was  one 
of  the  crew  of  the  Enterprise  when  she  captured  the  Boxer,  and 
was  in  the  battle  between  the  Constitution  and  the  Cyanne  and 
Levant.  His  general  character  was  good.  On  the  return  of 
the  Constitution  to  port  he  formed  an  illicit  connexion  with 
an  abandoned  woman  by  the  name  of  Maria  Henry.  They 
dwelled  together  in  Clark  Street  at  the  North  End  of  Boston, 
as  man  and  wife. 

On  the  fifteenth  day  of  June  eighteen  hundred  and  sixteen 
the  soi  disant  Mrs.  Coombs  was  somewhat  intoxicated;  never¬ 
theless  they  passed  the  day  quietly  till  late  in  the  afternoon,  at 
which  time  the  lady  was  sitting  on  the  sailor’s  knees.  One 
Eliza  Snow  was  present.  Mrs.  Coombs  requested  her  part¬ 
ner  to  make  a  fire,  and  he  peremptorily  refused,  with  an  oath. 
She  then  said  that  she  would  make  the  fire  and  get  tea, 
but  that  he  should  not  partake  of  it.  With  that  the  woman 
left  the  room  in  a  passion,  and  went  into  the  kitchen.  He 
followed  her,  as  much  enraged  as  she,  and  a  quarrel  instantly 
took  place.  A  woman  in  the  next  apartment,  hearing  the  noise, 
looked  through  a  gimlet  hole,  and  saw  Coombs  strike  his 
paramour  down.  The  sufferer  cried  murder  and  begged  him 
to  desist.  Howbeit  he  persisted  in  striking  and  kicking 
her;  nay,  even  stamped  on  her  twice.  At  last  when  the 
neighbours,  attracted  by  the  noise,  came  in,  he  raised  her  in 
his  arms  and  laid  her  on  a  bed. 

She  said,  “  George  Coombs,  you  have  given  me  my  death 


GEORGE  COOMBS. 


199 


wound;  you  have  killed  me.”  To  one  of  the  bystanders  she 
said  she  had  hurt  herself  by  falling;  to  another  that  Coombs 
had  killed  her.  She  then  requested  that  some  one  would 
go  for  a  physician.  Coombs  refused  to  stir,  but  one  of  the 
females  present  went. 

When  the  doctor  entered,  Coombs  was  walking  about  the 
room  much  agitated,  but  not  intoxicated.  Mrs.  Coombs  was 
weak,  had  no  perceptible  pulse,  and  was  scarcely  able  to 
speak.  At  midnight  she  expired.  A  post  mortem  examination 
discovered  a  bruise  on  the  left  side,  which  had  ruptured  two 
blood  vessels.  The  deceased  was  a  robust,  strong  woman. 

For  this  homicide  George  Coombs  was  brought  to  the  bar 
of  the  Supreme  Court  on  the  first  of  June  eighteen  hundred 
and  sixteen  on  an  indictment  for  murder.  He  pleaded  not 
guilty. 

A  mistake  did  then,  and  still  does,  generally  prevail  that 
to  kill  a  person  in  the  heat  of  passion  can  be  no  greater  crime 
than  manslaughter.  To  correct  this  impression  we  must  here 
state  that  “  Murder”  is,  in  law,  the  voluntarily  killing  any 
human  being  under  the  peace  of  the  commonwealth,  with 
malice  aforethought.  The  sense  of  the  word  malice  is  not 
confined  to  any  particular  ill  will  to  the  slain,  but  denotes  an 
action  proceeding  from  a  wicked  and  corrupt  motive,  and 
done  with  an  evil  mind.  This  applies  to  an  act  committed  in 
such  circumstances  as  evinces  a  heart  regardless  of  social 
duty  and  fatally  inclined  to  mischief.  Therefore  in  any 
deliberately  cruel  act  against  another,  however  sudden,  malice 
is  implied.  These  principles  are  clearly  enforced  by  Black- 
stone. 

It  appeared  in  the  prisoner’s  favor  that  the  deceased  was 
'  habitually  drunken,  given  to  profane  and  indecent  language, 
and  of  a  turbulent  and  furious  temper,  Coombs  had  always  ap¬ 
peared  to  be  much  attached  to  her,  and  on  the  fatal  evening  said 
he  feared  he  was  about  to  lose  his  best  friend.  On  being  advis¬ 
ed  by  a  man  present  to  abscond,  Coombs  ordered  him  to  leave 
the  house.  He  willingly  gave  money  to  procure  tne  physic 
ordered  by  the  physician.  After  the  death  of  his  paramour, 
he  made  no  attempt  to  escape,  but  went  to  Charlestown  and 
returned  again  fearlessly.  Also,  four  out  of  seven  of  the 
witnesses  to  the  blows  given  were  common  prostitutes.  The 
person  who  witnessed  the  act  of  stamping,  however,  was  of 
unimpeached  character.  Admitting  this  fact  to  be  true,  the 
act  of  Coombs  was  undoubtedly  a  savage  murder,  but  the  tes¬ 
timony  of  this  witness  was  in  some  degree  contradicted  by 
other  evidence.  The  prisoner  was  acquitted  and  discharged. 


200 


william  be  vans. 


» 


WILLIAM  BEVANS. 

This  person  was  born  in  the  state  of  Connecticut,  and  spent 
the  early  years  of  his  life  without  any  settled  employment, 
lie  rambled  from  place  to  place,  in  different  occupations,  till 
he  was  fifteen  years  old,  when  he  enlisted  in  the  United  States 
Marine  Corps.  His  countenance  was  rather  prepossessing 
than  otherwise.  The  offence  which  gives  him  a  place  in  our 
record  was  committed  in  the  eighteenth  year  of  his  age. 

He  was  on  board  the  United  States  line  of  battle  ship  In¬ 
dependence,  then  lying  at  her  moorings  in  Boston  harbor, 
about  half  a  mile  from  the  shore.  On  the  sixth  of  November 
eighteen  hundred  and  sixteen,  he  was  stationed  by  a  proper 
officer  as  a  sentinel  on  the  gun  deck,  near  the  galley,  where 
the  cooking  is  usually  performed.  He  was  armed  with  a  bay¬ 
onet,  as  is  usual. 

The  harness  cask ,  being  that  cask  which  contains  the  ship’s 
daily  provisions,  stood  close  to  his  post.  While  he  was  walk¬ 
ing  backward  and  forward,  in  the  discharge  of  his  duty,  Pe¬ 
ter  Lunstrum,  one  of  the  cook’s  mates,  commenced  a  playful 
scuflling  with  one  Duncan,  within  the  precincts  of  Bevan’s 
post.  Bevans  had  received  orders  to  keep  silence  about  the 
galley,  to  allow  no  noise  or  quarrelling,  or  interference  with 
the  cooks.  In  pursuance  of  these  orders  Bevans  commanded 
Lunstrum  and  Duncan  to  desist.  Lunstrum,  in  return,  call¬ 
ed  him  “  a  d — d  marine  son  of  a  b — h,”  and  bade  him  attend 
to  his  post.  He  then  went  behind  the  harness  cask,  where 
as  cook’s  mate  he  had  a  right  to  go,  though  in  this  instance 
he  did  not  go  thither  in  the  discharge  of  his  duty.  Leaning 
on  the  harness  cask,  still  on  the  sentinel’s  post,  Lunstrum 
continued  his  abuse  of  Bevans,  and  repeatedly  called  him  a 
liar.  Bevans  remonstrated  against  this  treatment,  and  find¬ 
ing  that  Lunstrum  would  not  desist,  struck  him  two  or  three 
blows  across  the  wrist  with  the  flat  of  his  bayonet  ;  not  how¬ 
ever,  with  great  violence.  Lunstrum  on  this  became  still 
more  angry,  and  in  addition  to  the  words  he  had  used  before 
accused  the  soldier  of  having  stolen  his  clothes. 

Bevans  now  bade  him  go  about  his  business,  wishing,  as 
he  said,  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  him.  Still  the  cook’s  mate 
persisted,  and  repeatedly  called  the  marine  a  liar.  Bevans 
at  last  told  him  that  if  he  repeated  the  words  again  he  would 
run  through  the  body  him  or  any  other  man  who  should  abuse 


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WILLIAM  BEVANS.  '  201 

him  on  his  post.  Lunstrum  replied  by  again  calling  him  a 
liar,  and  Bevans,  without  quickening  his  pace,  walked  toward 
him.  When  he  came  opposite  the  harness  cask,  on  which  the 
cook’s  mate  was  yet  leaning,  he  stabbed  him  to  the  heart  with 
his  bayonet. 

For  this  Bevans  was  brought  to  the  bar  of  the  Circuit  Court 
on  the  sixteenth  of  December  following,  on  an  indictment  for 
murder.  The  indictment  was  founded  oi>a  section  of  that 
act  of  Congress  which  provides  for  the  punishment  of  crimes 
committed  on  the  high  seas.  The  section  in  question  speci¬ 
fies  that  u  the  trial  for  crimes  committed  on  the  high  seas,  or 
in  any  |  lace  out  of  the  jurisdiction  of  any  particular  state, 
shall  be  in  the  district  where  the  offender  is  apprehended,  or 
into  which  he  may  first  be  brought.” 

The  indictment  contained  two  counts,  intended  to  embrace 
every  ground  of  jurisdiction  given  to  the  courts  of  the  Uni¬ 
ted  States  in  cases  of  murder.  In  the  first  of  the  counts  the 
murder  was  alleged  to  have  been  perpetrated  upon  the  high 
seas,  and  in  the  second,  to  have  been  committed  in  a  certain 
haven,  about  half  a  mile  from  the  shores  of  the  town  of  Bos¬ 
ton;  and  in  both  counts  as  having  occurred  without  the  juris¬ 
diction  of  any  particular  state. 

Beside  the  facts  above  stated  it  appeared  that  the  deceased 
was  unarmed  during  the  fatal  altercation  with  Bevans,  on  whom 
he  made  no  attack,  save  with  his  tongue.  It  seems  that 
throughout  the  scene  the  demeanor  of  the  sentinel  was  calm 
and  unruffled,  undisturbed  by  any  apparent  gust  of  passion, 
and  that  when  Lunstrum  sank  at  his  feet  he  continued  co  walk 
his  rounds  as  before,  with  coolness  and  composure.  The 
amount  of  the  offence  in  the  eye  of  the  civil  law,  for  which 
the  cook’s  mate  suffered  a  punishment  so  severe,  consisted  in 
the  exercise  of  an  unruly  tongue. 

The  prisoner  was  found  guilty,  which  in  our  opinion  is  the 
hardest  case  in  our  collection.  It  was  hard  to  be  tried  by  the 
civil  law  for  an  act  committed  in  a  situation  where  martial  law 
was  of  more  immediate  and  paramount  consideration.  Sol¬ 
diers  are  acquainted,  generally,  with  no  law  but  law  martial, 
and  act  in  conformity  to  its  statutes.  Discipline  is  the  very 
soul  of  the  army  and  navy,  which  could  not  an  hour  exist 
without  it.  All  resistance  to  lawful  authority,  is,  in  the  army, 
overcome  by  immediate  force,  and  the  recusant  acts  at  his 
own  peril.  Mutiny  may  be  quelled  by  blows,  and  martial 
law  will  justify  him  who  strives  to  overcome  it,  even  if  death 
is  the  consequence  of  his  endeavors.  Instant  and  wilful  dis- 


202  STEPHEN  AND  JESSE  BOORN. 

obedience  of  orders  is  mutiny.  Besides,  the  post  of  a  senti¬ 
nel  is  in  the  opinion  of  soldiers  holy  ground,  not  to  be  pro¬ 
faned  by  insult  or  attack  of  any  kind.  The  character  of 
Bevan’s  profession  should  not,  perhaps,  be  admitted  as  an 
excuse  for  an  act  of  violence,  but  it  should  b£  remembered 
that  a  nice  sense  of  honor  in  its  members  renders  an  army 
doubly  efficient.  If  ever  any  provocation  short  of  personal 
violence  could  justify  a  deadly  retort  it  was  that  given  by 
Lunstrum  to  Bevans.  The  sentinel  bore  long  and  patiently, 
though  vilified  as  a  soldier  and  a  man,  and  resisted  as  an 
officer;  for  a  sentinel  for  the  time  being  is  an  officer,  and  of 
no  slight  importance.  Sentinels  frequently  receive  special 
orders  to  repel  abuse  offered  them  on  their  posts  by  force 
and  arms,  and  we  believe  there  are  few  soldiers  who  would 
not  consider  themselves  justified  in  doing  so.  In  our  opinion 
no  court  martial  would  have  punished  Bevans  for  the  death  of 
Lunstrum  in  such  circumstances. 

The  civil  law  admits  three  justifications  of  killing;  ne¬ 
cessity,  advancement  of  public  justice,  and  preventing  the 
commission  of  some  capital  offence.  If  an  officer  is  resisted 
in  the  execution  of  his  duty,  he  may  overcome  the  resistance 
even  at  the  risk  of  taking  life,  and  the  law  will  justify  him. 
It  seems  to  us  that  this  was  precisely  the  case  with  Bevans — 
a  sentinel  is  punished  for  not  enforcing  his  orders.  If  an 
officer  would  compel  rioters  to  disperse,  those  who  obstruct 
him  do  it  at  their  own  peril.  This  was  the  case  with  Lunstrum 
and  Duncan;  they  were  committing  riotous  actions,  and 
Lunstrum  resisted  the  lawful  authority. 

On  the  whole,  we  opine  that  Bevans  acted  rashly,  but  not 
so  far  wrongfully  as  to  deserve  the  punishment  of  death. 

•  - 


STEPHEN  AND  .TESSE,  BOORN. 

The  trial  of  these  two  brothers  lor  a  crime  they  did  not 
commit,  and  their  conviction,  furnish  a  theme  of  deep  interest. 
The  like  has  seldom  happened  in  any  land,  and  their  case  has 
greatly  increased  the  difficulty  of  convictions  on  circumstan¬ 
tial  evidence.  We  give  a  sketch  of  their  trial,  and  other 


STEPHEN  AND  JESSE  BOORN.  203 

events  connected  with  it,  compiled  from  documents  of  unques¬ 
tionable  authority. 

Russel  Colvin,  whom  they  were  accused  of  having  mur¬ 
dered,  married  a  sister  of  the  Booms,  and  had  several 
children  by  her.  He  was  at  all  times  possessed  of  a  but 
feeble  capacity,  and  at  times  his  small  intellects  were  deranged. 
As  he  was  not  always  able  to  provide  the  necessaries  of  life 
for  himself  and  family,  he  was  in  some  degree  dependent  on 
his  wife’s  relatives.  Colvin  and  the  Booms  were  residents 
of  Manchester,  Bennington  County,  in  Vermont.  In  the 
spring  of  eighteen  hundred  and  twelve  he  disappeared,  and 
was  given  up  by  his  friends  for  lost. 

In  September  eighteen  hundred  and  nineteen,  Stephen  and 
Jesse  Boorn  appeared  before  the  Supreme  Court  held  at  Man¬ 
chester,  to  meet  a  charge  of  murder.  The  indictment  present¬ 
ed  that  they  on  the  tenth  of  May,  in  eighteen  hundred  and 
twelve  made  an  assault  on  Russel  Colvin;  that  Stephen  struck 
the  said  Colvin  a  mortal  blow  on  the  back  part  of  his  head 
with  a  beechen  club,  of  which  he  died,  and  that  Jesse  Boorn 
was  present  aiding  and  abetting.  The  second  count  charged 
Jesse  as  principal,  and  Stephen  as  accessary. 

The  Booms  pleaded  not  guilty  to  the  charge. 

-  Skinner  testified  that  he  knew  Russel  Colvin  many 

years,  while  he  resided  with  Barney  Boorn,  his  father  in  law. 
It  was  now  seven  or  eight  years  since  Colvin  had  been  in  Man¬ 
chester.  The  spring  preceding,  the  witness  had  attended  a 
court  of  examination — a  button,  knife,  and  some  bones  that  had 
been  found  in  a  certain  cellar-hole,  were  shown  by  the  witness 
to  Mrs.  Colvin.  They  rubbed  the  button  in  her  presence,  and 
discovered  the  color,  as  well  as  a  flower  in  the  centre.  The 
knife  was  an  oldfashioned,  long  jack-knife,  that  had  been 
much  used.  They  showed  her  these  articles,  to  see  if  she 
would  recognise1  them  as  having  belonged  to  her  missing 
husband. 

According  to  Mrs.  Colvin’s  testimony  before  the  court,  she 
knew  the  button  to  have  been  worn  by  her  husband  the  last 
time  she  saw  him,  and  many  years  before. 

Mr.  Skinner  farther  testified  that  on  the  evening  before  the 
search  for  Colvin’s  body  took  place,  Jesse  Boorn  told  him  he 
suspected  his  brother  Stephen  had  buried  the  body  on  a 
neighboring  hill.  The  next  day  Jesse  and  Mr.  Skinner  went 
together  to  search  for  it.  On  their  return  Jesse  told  Mr. 
Skinner  he  had  often  seen  old  Mrs.  Colvin,  Russel’s  mother, 
cut  tobacco  with  the  jack-knife  that  had  been  found. 


204 


STEPHEN  AND  JESSE  BOORN. 


Jlmos  Boom  was  present  wheif  the  knife  and  buttor  were 
found,  and  the  knife  would  then  open  and  shut.  This  hap¬ 
pened  on  the  first  of  May  preceding  the  trial.  The  Sunday 
after,  the  witness  was  one  of  a  party  who  examined  a  hollow 
stump,  whence  they  dug  up  two  nails,  and  a  number  of  bones. 
One  of  the  nails  appeared  to  be  a  thumb  nail;  the  other  was 
much  decayed.  The  witness  had  heard  Jesse  Boorn  say  that 
he  believed  the  knife  to  be  Russel  Colvin’s,  and  that  he  felt 
very  badly  about  it.  The  said  cellar-hole  belonged  to  a  house 
that  had  been  removed  nineteen  years  before.  The  stump 
was  about  sixty  rods  from  the  cellar-hole,  near  the  bank  of 
Battenkill  river. 

Amos  Boorn  farther  testified  that  he  had  been  acquainted 
with  Colvin — that  said  Colvin  had  before  been  absent  from 
home  a  long  time,  and  had  returned.  The  often  mentioned 
cellar-hole  was  not  large  enough  to  receive  a  coffin. 

Trutnan  Hill  went  into  the  prison  to  see  Jesse  Boorn  the 
Saturday  after  the  sitting  of  the  court  of  examination.  Jesse 
told  him  he  believed  the  knife  was  Russel  Colvin’s,  and  that 
when  it  and  a  certain  hat  were  presented  to  him  before  the 
court,  his  feelings  were  such  that  he  was  obliged  to  support 
himself  by  leaning  on  a  pew.  While  saying  this  he  was 
much  agitated,  and  Mr.  Hill  asked  him  what  was  the  matter. 
Being  urged,  he  said  he  believed  his  brother  Stephen  had 
killed  Colvin,  but  that  he  had  never  so  believed  till  he  went 
into  William  Boom’s  shop,  when  Stephen  and  William  Boorn 
were  both  in  it.  On  that  occasion,  he  learned  the  manner  of 
Colvin’s  death,  and  now  thought  he  knew  the  spot  where  the 
body  was  buried,  within  a  few  rods. 

About  this  time,  the  witness,  who  kept  the  keys  of  the 
prison,  let  a  Mr.  Johnson  in  to  see  Jesse  Boorn.  Mr.  John¬ 
son  exhorted  the  prisoner  to  confess. 

Thomas  Johnson  testified  that  at  the  time  Colvin  disappeared 
he,  the  witness,  lived  on  the  farm  adjoining  that  of  Barney 
Boorn,  Colvin’s  father  in  law.  Colvin  at  that  time  lived  with 
Barney  Boorn.  About  that  tirpe  he  saw  the  prisoners,  Russel 
Colvin,  and  Lewis,  Russel’s  son,  in  a  lot  near  his  own  house. 
They  appeared  to  be  quarrelling,  but  though  the  witness  lis¬ 
tened  he  could  not  ascertain  the  cause.  He  went  home,  and 
soon  after  going  to  the  door,  heard  the  parties  still  in  loud 
debate.  He  then  went  to  a  rising  ground  whence  he  could 
see  them  without  being  himself  seen,  and  perceived  that  the 
quarrellers  were  picking  up  stones.  From  that  time  he  never 
beheld  Russel  Colvin. 


STEPHEN  AND  JESSE  BOORN 


205 


Mr.  Johnson  heard  Stephen  Boorn  say  on  the  day  of  his 
examination,  that  on  the  day  Colvin  disappeared,  he,  Stephen, 
was  ploughing  on  the  ridge  out  of  sight  of  the  spot  where  he, 
the  witness,  had  witnessed  the  quarrel.  He,  Stephen,  added 
that  he  might  have  gone  to  the  spot  to  see  the  boys,  but  did 
not  work  there,  or  ever  pick  up  stones  at  that  place. 

Stephen  Boorn  had  since  told  Mr.  Johnson  a  different  tale, 
viz;  that  on  the  day  Colvin  disappeared,  he,  Stephen,  was  at 
work  in  other  places.*  He  mentioned  that  he  that  day  killed 
a  woodchuck  and  that  Lewis  Colvin  had  carried  it  home. 

Jesse  Boorn  had  told  Mr.  Johnson,  that  on  the  day  so 
many  times  specified,  he,  Jesse,  had  also  been  at  another  part 
of  the  town. 

Three  years  after  Colvin  went  off  Mr.  Johnson  bought 
Barney  Boom’s  farm.  His,  Johnson’s,  children,  found  on  it 
a  hat,  which  though  decayed  and  mouldy,  the  witness  knew  to 
be  that  worn  by  Colvin  about  the  time  of  his  disappearance. 

Lewis  Colvin,  Russel’s  son,  now  seventeen  years  old,  testi¬ 
fied  to  the  picking  up  of  stones  mentioned  by  Johnson.  The 
parties  had  been  picking  up  stones  several  days.  While  thus 
engaged,  a  quarrel  arose.  .Russel  Colvin  struck  Stephen 
Boorn  with  a  small  riding  stick,  which  Stephen  requited  by 
a  blow  on  the  neck  with  a  club.  The  stroke  knocked  Colvin 
down,  but  he  soon  rose  and  struck  Stephen  again.  Stephen 
knocked  Colvin  down  again,  and  the  witness  being  frightened, 
then  ran  away.  He  saw  no  blood  drawn.  The  club  was 
about  a  foot  long,  and  not  very  thick. 

The  next  day  Stephen  Boorn  told  the  witness  not  to  mention 
what  had  taken  place,  threatening  to  kill  him  if  he  did.  The 
witness  promised  to  say  nothing  about  the  matter.  He  never 
saw  his  father  again,  or  for  a  year  heard  either  of  the  Booms 
say  what  became  of  him.  He  had  once  heard  Stephen  say 
that  after  the  quarrel  Russel  Colvin  ran  away  to  the  moun¬ 
tain.  Witness  remembered  nothing  about  the  woodchuck 
mentioned  by  Stephen  Boorn. 

Mi's.  Eunice  Baldwin  related  a  conversation  that  had  taken 
place  between  Stephen  Boom  and  her  husband.  On  this 
occasion  Stephen  said  that  Russel  Colvin  had  disappeared 
strangely — that  the  last  time  he  was  seen,  he  went  into  the 
woods  in  the  presence  of  a  number  of  persons,  among  whom 
were  himself  and  his  brother  Jesse.  Stephen  added  that 
when  Russel  Colvin  went  to  the  woods,  Lewis  his  son  was 
absent,  having  gone  for  drink.  When  Lewis  came  back  he 
asked  after  his  father,  and  one  of  them,  the  Booms,  answered 


206 


STEPHEN  AND  JESSE  BOORN. 


that, he  was  gone  to  h — 11;  the  other  said  they  had  pjt  him 
where  potatoes  would  not  freeze.  Stephen  observed  to  Mr. 
Baldwin  that  if  they  had  killed  Colvin,  it  was  not  likely  they 
would  have  so  spoken  to  his  son.  Stephen  said  moreover, 
that  he  did  not  know  but  some  believed  he  had  killed  Colvin. 
Mr.  Baldwin  testified  to  the  same  effect,  adding  that  Stephen 
spoke  seriously. 

Sarah  Colvin ,  the  wife  of  the  absentee,  declared  that  when 
she  returned  home  after  her  husband’s  disappearance,  her 
son  Lewis  told  her  his  father  was  gone  to  h — 11.  More  than 
four  years  before  the  trial  Stephen  Boorn  told  her  that  her 
husband  was  dead,  and  Jesse  said  something  to  the  same 
purpose. 

Johnson  Marsh  testified  as  follows.  In  the  spring  before 
the  trial  Stephen  Boorn  came  to  his  house.  A  girl  living 
there  said  to  Stephen,  u  They  are  going  to  dig  up  Colvin  for 
you,  are  they  not?”  Stephen  began  to  swear,  and  threaten¬ 
ed  to  beat  some  person,  but  Mr.  Marsh  appeased  him.  Ste¬ 
phen  then  said  that  Colvin  often  left  home  and  returned  again 
— that  when  he  last  departed  he  was  insane  and  went  without 
his  hat — that  he  was  seen  at  Mrs.  Furguson’s  when  he  went 
off,  which  was  now  denied.  He  added  that  when  Colvin  dis¬ 
appeared,  he,  Stephen,  was  absent  in  Sandgate.  Mr.  Marsh 
farther  stated  that  Stephen  Boorn  had  since  denied  this  con¬ 
versation. 

Benjamin  Doming  had  been  told  by  Stephen  Boorn  that  he, 
Stephen,  knew  nothing  about  Russel  Colvin  at  the  time  of  bis 
departure,  for  that  he,  Stephen,  was  then  living  at  Hammond 
Place.  Stephen  said  Mrs.  Colvin  had  told  him  her  husband 
went  off  on  Tuesday,  and  that  he,  Stephen,  was  at  his  father’s 
house  on  the  Saturday  following.  Mrs.  Colvin  then  and  there 
told  him  that  her  husband  went  off  after  dining,  saying  it  was 
the  last  dinner  he  should  ever  eat  there. 

William  Wyman  swore  that  previous  to  Colvin’s  departure 
Stephen  Boorn  asked  him  if  there  was  no  way  to  break  ofF 
the  intercourse  between  Colvin  and  his  wife.  The  witness 
replied  that  he  knew  of  none,  on  which  Stephen  said  that  if 
there  was  no  other  way  he  would  put  a  stop  to  their  inter¬ 
course  himself.  On  another  occasion  Stephen  asked  Wyman 
if  his,  Stephen’s,  father  was  obliged  to  support  Colvin’s  chil¬ 
dren;  and  being  answered  in  the  affirmative,  repeated  that  he 
would  himself  put  a  stop  to  the  intercourse  between  his  sister 
and  her  husband.  Wyman  knew  that  Stephen  Boorn  was  liv¬ 
ing  with  Barney  Boorn,  in  the  same  house  with  Colvin,  about 


STEPHEN  AND  JESSE  BOORN.  207 

the  time  the  latter  went  away,  but  Stephen  had  since  told  him 
that  he  was  then  living  at  Hammond  Place. 

William  Farnsworth  had  questioned  Stephen  Boorn  concern¬ 
ing  the  woodchuck  before  mentioned,  and  told  him  his  parents 
denied  the  truth  of  his  statement.  Stephen  declared  what 
he  had  said  was  true — that  in  denying  it  his  parents  had 
sworn  themselves  to  the  devil,  and  their  condition  was  worse 
than  his  own.  Farnsworth  then  told  Stephen  what  Mr.  John¬ 
son  had  seen  on  the  day  Colvin  went  off,  as  before  related, 
and  that  his  parents  had  contradicted  Mr.  Johnson.  Stephen 
answered  that  Johnson  had  sworn  to  the  truth,  anything  his 
parents  might  have  testified  to  the  contrary  notwithstanding. 

William  Boorn  had  been  told  by  Stephen  that  he  was  at 
Hammond  Place  when  Colvin  was  first  missed.  Jesse  Boorn 
had  told  this  witness  that  he  was  in  another  town  when  Colvin 
went  off,  (and  not  in  Manchester  as  he  had  said  to  John¬ 
son.) 

Daniel  Jacobs ,  in  eighteen  hundred  and  thirteen  was  in¬ 
formed  by  Jesse  Boorn  that  Russel  Colvin  was  then  an  enlist¬ 
ed  soldier  in  the  United  States  Army.  (This  witness  was 
hard  of  hearing.) 

After  Jesse  Boorn  was  arrested  he  told  Joshua  French  he 
knew  the  knife  that  had  been  found  was  Colvin’s.  He  had 
often  seen  Colvin’s  mother  use  it. 

Silas  Merrill ,  had  heard  the  confession  of  Jesse  Boorn. 
When  Jesse  had  been  several  times  examined  and  remanded 
to  prison  he  told  the  witness  he  had  been  persuaded  to  Confess 
by  the  promise  of  pardon.  Merrill  answered  that  by  so  do¬ 
ing  he  might,  perhaps,  obtain  some  favor.  That  night  Jesse 
and  Merrill  slept  in  the  same  apartment  of  the  prison.  In  the 
night  Jesse  wakened  Merrill,  being  frightened,  as  he  said,  by 
something  that  had  come  into  the  window  and  got  on  the  bed 
behind  him.  He  said  he  wanted  to  tell  Merrill  something, 
whereupon  the  latter  rose  and  listened. 

The  singular  confession  that  followed  of  a  crime  never 
committed,  proves,  we  think,  if  the  testimony  of  Merrill  was 
true,  which  we  see  much  reason  to  doubt,  that  Jesse  Boorn 
was  insane,  or  that  fear  had  made  of  him  a  blacker  villain 
than  twenty  murders  would  have  done.  What  else  can  we 
think  of  a  man  who  to  save  his  own  life,  would  destroy  those 
of  his  father  and  brother. 

Jesse  said  that  the  statement  of  Mr.  Johnson  respecting  the 
picking  up  of  stones  was  true,  that  Stephen  Boorn  and 
Russel  Colvin,  quarrelled  while  so  employed,  and  Stephen 

10 


208 


STEPHEN  AND  JESSE  BOORN. 


struck  Colvin  to  the  earth  with  a  club.  Colvin’s  boy  ran, 
and  Colvin  rose  again,  when  Stephen  fractured  his  skull  a 
little  above  the  ear  with  a  second  blow,  and  the  blood  gushed 
out.  Barney  Boorn  then  came  up,  and  asked  if  Colvin  was 
dead.  Being  answered  in  the  negative,  he  walked  off,  but 
soon  returned,  and  repeated  his  question.  He  again  received 
the  same  answer,  again  went  away  and  returned  the  third 
time.  Finding  Colvin  still  living,  the  old  man  cursed  him.  • 

Jesse  then  took  his  brother  in  law  by  the  legs,  and  Stephen 
by  the  shoulders.  With  their  father’s  assistance  they  carried 
him  to  the  cellar-hole,  where  the  old  man  cut  his  throat  with 
Stephen’s  penknife.  Stephen  and  his  father  buried  him  in  the 
cellar  between  daylight  and  dark,  while  Jesse  kept  watch 
without.  Two  or  three  days  after,  Jesse  saw  that  Stephen 
had  Colvin’s  shoes  on,  and  told  him  that  their  sister  would 
know  them.  Jesse  never  saw  them  again.  Boorn,  their 
father,  gave  Stephen  a  hundred  dollars,  of  which  Stephen 
promised  Jesse  twenty-five.  The  jack-knife  found,  Jesse 
knew  to  have  belonged  to  his  brother  in  law.  This  was  the 
confession  of  Jesse  that  night,  as  stated  on  oath  before  the 
court  by  Merrill. 

Jesse  was  soon  removed  into  another  apartment  in  the 
prison,  and  when  Merrill  was  afterwards  permitted  to  visit 
him,  said  he  had  informed  Stephen  of  his  confession.  Stephen 
then  entered  the  room,  and  Merrill  asked  him  if  he  did  really 
kill  Colvin.  Stephen  replied  that  he  “  did  not  take  the  main 
life  of  Colvin.” 

About  a  week  after,  Stephen  Boorn  and  Merrill  met  again. 
Stephen  said  that  he  had  agreed  with  Jesse  to  take  the  whole 
business  on  his  own  shoulders,  and  had  made  a  confession, 
according  to  which  his  deed  would  be  manslaughter.  Mer¬ 
rill  told  him  what  Jesse  had  confessed,  and  he  answered 
that  it  was  true. 

Jesse  farthermore  had  told  Merrill  that  eighteen  months 
after  they  buried  the  body,  he  and  Stephen  took  it  up  again, 
put  the  remains  in  a  basket  and  put  the  bones  under  the  floor 
of  a  barn.  The  spring  after  the  barn  was  burnt,  and  they 
again  took  up  the  bones,  pounded  them,  and  threw  them  into 
the  river.  The  skull  bone  was  so  burnt,  that  it  crumbled  to 
pieces.  Their  father  picked  up  some  of  the  pieces  and  put 
them  into  a  hollow  stump  near  the  road. 

On  his  cross-examination,  Merrill  added  that  Jesse  had  since 
his  confession,  desired  him  to  keep  the  secret.  Jesse  also  told 
him  that  Russel  Colvin  struck  the  first  blow.  This  was  the 
evidence  of  Merrill. 


STEPHEN  AND  JESSE  BOORN. 


209 


At  this  stage  of  the  trial,  a  confession  written  and  signed  by 
Stephen  while  in  prison,  was  offered  to  the  court.  The  fact 
that  he  had  written  it  was  fully  proved,-  but  it  also  appeared 
that  he  had  been  exhorted  to  do  so,  and  persuaded  by  vague 
hopes  of  pardon  held  out  to  him  by  several  persons.  The 
court  rejected  the  document. 

Several  witnesses  testified  to  the  finding  the  knife,  button 
and  bones,  at  the  cellar  and  stump  before  mentioned. 

William,  Farnsworth  was  now  called  again  to  testify  touching 
a  conversation  between  himself  and  Stephen  Boorn.  On 
preliminary  examination  he  said  that  neither  he,  nor,  to  his 
knowledge,  any  other  person,  had  done  anything  to  influence  • 
Stephen  to  the  talk  he  was  about  to  communicate,  directly  or 
indirectly. 

A  fortnight  after  he  wrote  his  confession  Stephen  Boorn 
told  Farnsworth  that  he  killed  Russel  Colvin.  They  quarrel¬ 
led,  Colvin  struck  him,  he  returned  the  blow  and  killed  Colvin. 
He  put  the  corpse  in  the  bushes,  buried  it,  dug  it  up  again 
and  put  the  remains  under  the  barn  that  was  burnt.  After 
this  he  took  up  the  bones,  and  put  them  into  the  river,  scraped 
up  the  remains,  and  put  them  into  the  stump.  He  perpetrated 
the  whole  himself,  and  no  one  was  present.  He  knew  the 
nails  and  the  jack-knife  were  Colvin’s.  Farnsworth  told  him 
the  case  looked  dark,  to  which  he  replied  that  if  Jesse  had 
kept  silence,  they  should  have  done  well  enough,  for  he  had 
put  the  pieces  of  bone  under  the  stump  through  a  hole  between 
the  roots,  and  stamped  the  earth  down  on  them.  He  said  too, 
that  he  wished  he  had  a  paper  he  had  written  back  again. 
This  was  the  substance  of  William  Farnsworth’s  testimony. 

Here  the  counsel  for  the  prisoners  said  that  as  Farnsworth 
had  been  permitted,  contrary  to  his  expectations,  to  testify,  he 
asked  that  the  written  confession  might  be  produced.  To  this 
there  could  be  no  objection.  The  confession  was  in  the  fol¬ 
lowing  words. 

u  May  the  tenth,  eighteen  hundred  and  twelve,  I,  about  nine 
or  ten  o’clock,  went  down  to  David  Glazier’s  bridge,  and 
fished  down  below  uncle  Nathaniel  Boom’s,  and  then  went  up 
across  their  farms,  where  Russel  and  Lewis  was,  being  the 
nighest  way,  and  sat  down  and  began  to  talk,  and  Russel  told 
me  how  many  dollars  benefit  he  had  been  to  father,  and  I 
told  him  he  was  a  d — d  fool,  and  he  was  mad  and  jumped  up, 
and  I  told  him  to  set  down,  you  little  tory,  and  there  was  a 
piece  of  a  beech  limb  about  two  feet  long,  and  he  catched  it 
up  and  struck  at  my  head  as  I  sat  down,  and  I  jumped  up  and 


210 


STEPHEN  AND  JESSE  B00RN. 


it  struck  me  on  one  shoulder,  and  I  catched  it  out  of  his  hand 
and  struck  him  a  back-handed  blow,  and  being  on  the  jiorth 
side  of  him,  and  there  was  a  knot  on  it  about  one  inch  long. 

u  As  I  struck  him  I  did  think  I  hit  him  on  his  back,  and  he 
stooped  down,  and  that  knot  was  broken  off  sharp,  and  it  hit 
him  on  the  back  of  the  neck,  close  in  his  hair,  and  it  went  in 
about  half  of  an  inch  on  that  great  cord,  and  he  fell  down,  and 
then  I  told  the  boy  to  go  down  and  come  up  with  his  uncle 
John,  and  he  asked  me  if  I  had  killed  Russel,  and  I  told  him 
no,  but  he  must  not  tell  that  we  struck  one  another.  And  I 
told  him,  when  he  got  away  down,  Russel  was  gone  away, 
and  I  went  back  and  he  was  dead,  and  then  I  went  and  took 
him  and  put  him  in  the  corner  of  the  fence  by  the  cellar-hole, 
and  put  briars  over  him  and  went  home  and  went  down  to  the 
barn  and  got  some  boards,  and  when  it  was  dark  I  went  down 
and  took  a  hoe  and  boards,  and  dug  a  grave  as  well  as  I 
could,  and  took  out  of  his  pocket  a  little  Barlow  knife,  with 
about  a  half  of  a  blade,  and  cut  some  bushes  and  put  on  his 
face  and  the  boards,  and  put  in  the  grave,  and  put  him  in  four 
boards  on  the  bottom  and  on  the  top,  and  t’  other  two  on  the 
sides,  and  then  covered  him  up  and  went  home  crying  along, 
but  I  wan’t  afraid  as  I  know  on. 

“  And  when  I  lived  to  Wm.  Boom’s  I  planted  some  po¬ 
tatoes,  and  when  I  dug  them  I  went  there  and  something  I 
thought  had  been  there,  and  I  took  up  his  bones  and  put  them 
in  a  basket,  and  took  the  boards  and  put  on  my  potato  hole, 
and  when  it  was  night,  took  the  basket  and  my  hoe  and  went 
down  and  pulled  a  plank  in  the  stable  floor  and  then  dug  a 
hole,  and  then  covered  him  up,  and  went  in  the  house  and  told 
them  I  had  done  with  the  basket  and  took  back  the  shovel 
and  covered  up  my  potatoes,  that  evening,  and  then  when  I 
lived  under  the  west  mountain,  Lewis  came  and  told  me  that 
ther’s  barn  was  burnt  up,  the  next  day  or  the  next  day  but 
one,  I  came  down  and  went  to  the  barn  and  there  was  a  few 
bones,  and  when  they  was  to  dinner,  I  told  them  I  did  not 
want  my  dinner,  and  went  and  took  them  and  there  wan’t  on¬ 
ly  a  few  of  the  biggest  of  the  bones,  and  throwed  them  in  the 
river  above  Wyman’s,  and  then  went  back,  and  it  was  done 
quick  too,  and  then  was  hungry  by  that  time,  and  then  went 
home,  and  the  next  Sunday  I  came  down  after  money  to  pay 
the  boot  that  I  gave  to  boot  between  oxens,  and  went  out 
there  and  scraped  up  them  little  things  that  was  under  the 
stump  there,  and  told  them  I  was  going  to  fishing,  and  went, 
and  there  was  a  hole,  and  I  dropped  them  in  and  kicked  over 


STEPHEN  AND  JESSE  BOORN. 


211 


the  stuff,  and  that  is  the  first  any  body  knew  it,  either  friends 
or  foes  even  my  wife.  All  these  I  acknowledge  before  the 
world.”  STEPHEN  BOORN. 

Manchester,  August  27th,  1819. 

This  closed  the  evidence  on  behalf  of  the  state. 

It  appeared  in  behalf  of  the  prisoners  that  though  Russel 
Colvfn  was  in  the  habit  of  going  from  home,  he  did  not  use 
to  go  without  his  hat,  of  which  he  was  very  careful.  It  seems 
too  that  Jesse  Boom  denied  ever  having  confessed  to  Merrill, 
and  that  Merrill  was  at  the  time  a  prisoner  for  a  criminal  ac¬ 
tion,  and  in  chains.  It  was  proved  that  persuasion  and  threats 
had  been  used  to  induce  both  the  brothers  to  confess,  and 
that  they  had  often  refused,  laying  much  stress  on  their 
innocence. 

The  jury  unanimously  found  both  the  prisoners  guilty,  and 
they  were  sentenced  to  be  hung  on  the  twenty-eighth  of  Jan¬ 
uary  eighteen  hundred  and  twenty.  Immediately  after  sen¬ 
tence  was  pronounced  on  these  two  unfortunate  men,  a  number 
of  the  most  respectable  citizens  of  Manchester  signed  a  pe¬ 
tition  for  a  pardon  or  mitigation  of  punishment,  which  was 
sent  to  Montpelier,  where  the  legislature  was  in  session.  It 
seems,  however,  that  some  were  willing  that  the  punishment 
of  Jesse  Boorn  should  be  mitigated,  but  not  that  any  mercy 
should  be  extended  to  Stephen,  and  they  said  so  on  signing 
the  petition.  It  was  in  consequence  resolved  that  the  pun¬ 
ishment  of  Jesse  should  be  commuted  for  that  of  imprisonment 
for  life,  by  a  majority  of  a  hundred  'and  four  to  thirty-one. 
It  was  judged  inexpedient  to  grant  any  relief  to  Stephen,  by 
a  majority  of  ninety-seven  to  forty-two.  Stephen,  therefore, 
was  left  to  suffer  according  to  his  sentence. 

When  the  news  of  this  decision  arrived  at  Manchester, 
those  who  still  believed  the  prisoners  innocent  immediately 
caused  a  notice  to  be  printed  in  the  Rutland  Herald,  to  which 
few  attached  any  importance.  It  contained  a  description  of 
Russel  Colvin’s  person  and  desired  any  who  could,  to  give 
information  respecting  him,  and  thereby  save  the  life  of  the 
innocent.  Printers  of  newspapers  were  requested  to  cir¬ 
culate  it.  ’ 

An  answer  soon  appeared  in  the  New  York  Evening  Post, 
to  the  confusion  of  all  in  any  way  concerned  in  the  condem¬ 
nation  of  the  Booms.  It  was  as  follows. 


212 


SPEPHEN  AND  JESSE  BOORN. 


To  the  Editor  of  the  New  York  Evening  Post. 

SIR,  Shrewsbury,  Monmouth. 

Having  read  in  your  paper  of  November  the  twenty-sixth 
last,  of  the  conviction  and  sentence  of  Stephen  and  Jesse 
Boorn  of  Manchester,  Vermont,  charged  with  the  murder  of 
.Russel  Colvin,  and  from  facts  which  have  fallen  within  my  own 
knowledge,  and  not  knowing  what  facts  may  have  been  dis¬ 
closed  on  their  trial,  and  wishing  to  serve  the  cause  of 
humanity,  I  would  state  as  follows,  which  may  be  relied  on. 
Some  years  past,  (I  think  between  five  and  ten)  a  stranger 
made  his  appearance  in  this  county,  and  upon  being  inquired 
of,  said  that  his  name  was  Russel  Colvin,  (which  name  he 
answers  to  this  time)  that  he  came  from  Manchester,  Ver¬ 
mont — he  appeared  to  be  in  a  state  of  mental  derangement, 
but  at  times  gave  considerable  account  of  himself,  his  con¬ 
nexions,  acquaintances,  &c.  He  mentions  the  names  of 
Clarissa,  Rufus,  &.c.  Among  his  relations,  he  has  mentioned 
the  Booms  above,  Jess,  as  judge,  (I  think)  &c,  &c.  He  is  a 
man  rather  small  in  stature,  round  favored,  speaks  very  fast, 
and  two  scars  on  his  head,  and  appears  to  be  between  thirty 
and  forty  years  of  age.  There  is  no  doubt  but  that  he  came 
from  Vermont,  from  the  mention  that  he  has  made  of  a  number 
of  places  and  persons  there,  and  probably  is  the  person  sup¬ 
posed  4o  have  been  murdered.  He  is  now  living  here,  but  so 
completely  insane,  as  *not  to  be  able  to  give  a  satisfactory 
account  of  himself,  but  the  connexions  of  Russel  Colvin 
might  know  by  seeing  him.  If  you  think  proper  to  give  this 
a  place  in  your  columns,  it  may  possibly  lead  to  a  discovery 
that  may  save  the  lives  of  innocent  men.  If  so,  you  will  have 
the  pleasure  (as  well  as  myself)  of  having  served  the  cause 
of  humanity.  If  you  give  this  an  insertion  in  your  paper 
pray  be  so  good  as  to  request  the  different,  editors  of  news¬ 
papers  in  New  York  and  Vermont,  to  give  it  a  place  in  their3. 

I  am,  Sir,  with  sentiments  of  regard,  yours,  &c. 

TABER  CHADWICK. 

Many  thought  this  letter  a  hoax,  but  others  believed  it 
fully.  When  it  appeared,  the  corporation  of  New  York,  with 
a  promptness  that  does  them  honor,  despatched  a  Mr.  Whelply 
to  New  Jersey  to  ascertain  if  the  person  described  was  the 
man  supposed  to  be  dead.  Mr.  Whelply  had  formerly  been 
well  acquainted  with  Colvin,  and  identified  him  at  once.  He 
was  forthwith  conducted  to  New  York,  where  the  public 
curiosity  was  so  highly  excited  that  the  streets  through  which 


AMOS  FURNALD. 


213 


*  he  passed  were  crowded.  On  the  route  to  Manchester,  vast 
multitudes  assembled  to  see  him.  Nothing  could  exceed  the 
joy  of  the  people  of  Manchester  on  the  day  he  arrived  there 
The  bells  were  rung  and  cannon  were  fired  to  welcome  him. 

Stephen  Boorne  was  released  from  his  chains  and  prison, 
that  he  might  see  his  recovered  brother  in  law.  Some  con¬ 
versation  passed  between  them,  but  Colvin  was  too  much  de¬ 
ranged  to  hold  rational  converse  with  any  one. 

Some  questions  were  propounded  to  him  touching  the  quar¬ 
rel  said  to  have  taken  place  between  him  and  Stephen  Boorn, 
but  he  appeared  wholly  ignorant  of  the  matter.  The  Booms 
were  soon  after  exonerated  from  the  crime  of  which  they 
stood  convicted,  and  restored  to  their  rights  and  privileges. 

So  ended  a  transaction  of  equal  singularity  and  importance 
in  the  annals  of  criminal  law.  Judging  from  the  evidence  of 
the  record,  we  know  not  which  most  to  pity,  the  men  who  had 
so  nearly  been  victims,  or  the  members  of  the  court  and  ju¬ 
ry  that  condemned  them.  The  evidence  was  certainly  so 
strong  that  no  rational  doubt  could  be  entertained  of  their  guilt, 
and  if  it  had  been  less  so,  they  furnished  arms  to  be  used 
against  themselves.  There  can  be  no  better  example  of  the 
fallacy  of  the  confessions  of  persons  accused,  unless  it  may  be 
in  the  story  of  the  Salem  Witchcraft.  May  every  man  liable 
to  act  as  a  juror  into  whose  hands  these  pages  shall  fall,  learn 
from  them  to  beware  of  a  hasty  judgment. 


AMOS  FURNALD. 

W  e  now  record  what  we  believe  to  be  the  most  savagely 
atrocious  homicide  ever  committed  in  a  Christian  land.  Put¬ 
ting  to  death  by  starving  is  a  thing  not  unknown,  but  that  a 
father  should  so  despatch  his  own  offspring  is  almost  incredi- 
b  e,  and  what  adds  to  the  guilt  of  the  offender  is,  that  his  bar¬ 
barity  endured  five  years;  from  his  child’s  birth  to  its  death. 
Neither  the  ties  of  nature  nor  the  helpless  and  unprotected 
condition  of  his  victim  could  make  him  relent  for  a  moment. 

Amos  Furnald  was  a  husbandman  and  resident  of  Gilman- 
ton  in  the  state  of  New  Hampshire.  He  was  married  in  the 


214 


AMOS  FURNALD. 


year  eighteen  hundred  and  seven,  and  had  several  children 
by  his  wife  ;  but  this  did  not  hinder  him  from  an  illicit  inter¬ 
course  with  a  young  girl  named  Mary  Wadleigh,  a  servant 
in  his  house,  by  whom  he  had  two  children.  On  the  twenty- 
seventh  of  June  eighteen  hundred  and  nineteen  this  girl  com¬ 
plained  to  a  justice  of  the  peace  that  she  was  about  to  be¬ 
come  the  mother  of  a  second  child  of  which  Amos  Furnald 
would  be  the  father.  A  warrant  was  accordingly  issued  by 
virtue  of  which  Amos  Furnald  was  arrested,  and  made  to  give 
a  bond  for  the  maintenance  of  the  infant. 

The  child  was  born  on  the  last  of  July  following,  and  re¬ 
ceived  the  name  of  Alfred  Furnald.  The  day  after,  its  father 
went  to  the  house  where  it  was  and  desired  the  nurse  to  let  him 
see  it.  He  took  it  in  his  arms  and  carried  it  away,  despite 
the  remonstrances  of  the  mother,  telling  her  she  should  never 
see  it.  again.  Though  it  rained  violently  he  carried  it,  un¬ 
covered,  to  his  own  house,  a  distance  of  half  a  mile. 

The  day  following  he  carried  the  child  back  to  its  distract¬ 
ed  mother.  He  told  her  she  might  keep  it  three  weeks,  but 
no  longer,  unless  she  would  promise  to  come  to  his  house  and 
remain  there.  She  promised,  and  Furnald  came  again  for 
the  child  as  he  had  threatened.  Rather  than  be  separated 
from  her  infant  Mary  Wadleigh  went  to  Furnald’s  house, 
where  she  remained,  as  its  nurse,  till  it  was  eight  months 
old.  About  this  time  Furnald  said  repeatedly,  in  the  pres¬ 
ence  of  his  wife  and  her  children,  that  he  would  use  the  child 
like  a  dog,  that  it  should  have  neither  food,  clothing,  nor  a 
bed  to  lie  on;  that  it  should  obey  his  legitimate  children;  that 
they  should  chastise  it  in  case  of  disobedience;  that  he 
would  chastise  it  after  they  were  weary,  and  that  if  it  died 
under  this  treatment  it  should  not  be  buried.  Terrified  by 
these  threats  Mary  Wadleigh  ran  away  from  his  house  with 
her  child,  and  carried  it  to  her  father’s  dwelling,  as  a  place  of 
safety.  The  morning  after  she  reached  her  parent’s  house 
Furnald  came  and  seized  the  child  before  it  was  dressed, 
swearing  he  would  have  its  body  or  its  heart’s  blood.  Mary 
Wadleigh  resisted,  but  after  a  struggle,  in  which  he  bit  her, 
he  prevailed  and  carried  the  child  back  to  his  own  house. 
The  mother  then  complained  to  one  of  the  selectmen,  after 
which  she  went  to  Furnald’s  house,  where  she  found  the  child 
naked.  Furnald  refused  to  let  her  have  the  infant’s  clothes, 
and  she  therefore  went  away  as  she  came. 

A  mother’s  love  is  not  easily  extinguished,  and  she  watch¬ 
ed  an  opportunity  to  carry  off  her  infant  by  stealth.  She 


AMOS  FURNALD. 


2 15 


found  one  and  carried  it  home  again.  In  the  March  follow¬ 
ing  Furnald  seized.it  once  more  and  carried  it  home. 

The  twentieth  of  March  Mary  Wadleigh  saw  Furnald  and 
persuaded  him  to  give  her  the  child  for  a  short  time.  When 
she  received  it,  it  was  extremely  pale  and  emaciated,  and  ap 
peared  to  have  been  burnt  or  frozen  in  various  parts  of  its 
body.  She  kept  and  tended  it  till  the  next  fourth  of  July, 
during  which  time  it  regained  its  health,  and  had  the  appear¬ 
ance  of  other  children  of  its  age.  Furnald  then  came,  and 
notwithstanding  the  entreaties  of  the  mother,  carried  the  child 
away  once  more.  She  never  saw  it  again,  but  their  crimi¬ 
nal  intercourse  was  renewed,  and  she  had  two  more  children 
by  him,  both  of  which  died. 

From  the  last  time  Furnald  obtained  possession  of  his  child 
he  and  his  wife  treated  it  with  extreme  cruelty.  Its  bar¬ 
barous  usage  and  forlorn  condition  became  known  to  a  Mrs. 
Susan  Sanborn,  who,  for  the  sake  of  Christian  charity,  offered 
to  take  the  child  home  and  keep  it  a  year  for  ten  dollars.  F ur- 
nald  assented,  and  she  carried  the  sickly  and  feeble  infant 
home  with  her.  It  soon  became  robust  and  healthy,  and  ap¬ 
peared  to  be  a  very  sprightly  and  promising  boy.  About 
the  last  of  September  eighteen  hundred  and  twenty-two  Furn¬ 
ald  carried  the  child  back  to  his  own  house. 

F rom  this  time  till  the  death  of  the  child,  which  happened  on 
the  eighth  of  April  eighteen  hundred  and  twenty-four,  a  course 
of  cruelty  more  barbarous,  of  inhumanity  more  depraved  has 
not  found  a  place  in  the  annals  of  crime.  It  appears  that 
the  formal  words  of  indictment  must  have  literally  been 
made  good  by  Amos  Furnald  and  his  wife.  They  had  no  fear 
of  God  or  man  before  their  eyes,  but  were  seduced  and  insti¬ 
gated  by  the  devil. 

The  clothing  of  the  unfortunate  child  of  sin  and  shame  was 
a  thin  outside  frock,  as  revolting  as  filth  and  long  use  could 
make  it.  For  two  winters  it  was  compelled  to  sleep  in  a  box 
four  or  five  inches  shorter  than  its  person,  on  straw,  and 
covered  with  dirty  rags.  Its  apparel  was  not  changed  for 
months  together,  and  in  the  coldest  weather  the  unhappy  in¬ 
fant  was  shut  up  in  a  room  without  fire,  without  shoes  or 
stockings,  and  bidden,  with  threats  to  bear  its  pains  in  silence. 
It  was  often  heard  to  utter  those  moans  and  complaints  which 
agony  extorted  in  spite  of  fear,  for  hours,  while  Furnald  and 
his  family  took  not  the  smallest  notice.  Furnald  had  a  child 
by  his  wife  about  the  same  age  in  the  house,  who  was  fed, 
clad  and  lodged  comfortably;  all  his  legitimate  children  par- 


216 


AMOS  FURNALD. 


took  of  such  aliments  as  he  had  abundant  means  to  provide, 
but  the  miserable  memento  of  his  shame  was  never  allowed  to 
eat  with  them.  Nay,  he  was  often  driven  into  the  street  with¬ 
out  shoes  or  covering,  in  the  coldest  of  winter,  till  his  feet 
froze  and  several  of  his  toes  dropped  off.  In  this  forlorn 
plight,  no  physician  was  called  to  visit  him.  When  he  was 
permitted  to  eat  in  the  same  apartment  with  his  half  brethren, 
he  was  seated  on  a  block  in  the  corner,  from  which  he  dared 
not  depart,  and  fed  on  the  rinds  of  the  potatoes  which  the  other 
children  had  swallowed.  Sometimes  he  was  allowed  gravy, 
but  never  a  spoon,  knife  or  fork. 

Nor  was  this  all:  hunger,  filth  and  vermin  were  not  consid¬ 
ered  sufficient  to  compass  his  destruction.  His  head  and  face 
were  constantly  seen  scarred  with  blows,  and  often  bleeding. 
He  was  unmercifully  beaten  by  parents  and  children.  The 
young  Furnalds  (they  ought  to  be  called  infernals)  were  seen 
to  throw  him  down,  tie  a  rope  round  his  neck,  and  drag  him 
backward  and  forward  across  the  floor,  till  his  face  was  black 
with  strangulation.  When  the  victim  of  this  unheard  of 
cruelty  was  released,  he  lay  for  several  minutes  motionless, 
and  apparently  lifeless. 

In  the  severity  of  winter,  Furnald  was  seen  to  take  this 
hapless  child  out  of  doors,  strike  him  down  with  his  fist,  and 
throw  him  into  a  puddle.  He  was  seen  to  whip  the  infant 
with  a  raw  hide  scourge,  with  as  much  violence  as  a  man  would 
punish  a  refractory  horse.  He  was  known  to  drive  the  child 
out  of  doors  when  so  weak  that  it  could  hardly  stand,  and  to 
knock  it  down  with  snowballs.  These  acts  of  continuous 
barbarity  at  last  accomplished  Amos  Furnald’s  purpose. 

On  the  first  of  April  eighteen  hundred  and  twenty-four, 
Furnald  began  to  frame  a  wood-shed  and  shoemaker’s  shop 
near  his  house.  Those  who  worked  on  the  frame  and  boarded 
in  his  family  saw  the  child  but  once,  and  it  was  then  standing 
leaning  against  the  door,  presenting  the  appearance  of  a 
bloodless  skeleton.  For  three  days  after,  none  of  the  family 
mentioned  his  name,  and  though  the  laborers  looked  for  him, 
they  did  not  see  him.  But  they  convinced  themselves  that  he 
was  either  in  the  garret  or  the  cellar.  On  the  eighth,  while 
they  were  at  breakfast,  a  faint  moan  was  heard  in  the  garret. 
Mrs.  Furnald,  after  looking  her  husband  in  the  face,  left  the 
table  without  speaking,  and  went  up  stairs.  Furnald  followed 
her,  but  in  eight  or  ten  minutes  came  forth  and  went  to  work 
as  usual,  without  saying  a  word  about  the  child  to  any  one. 
A  little  after,  Mrs.  Furnald  raised  the  window  and  asked 


A  ^  J  .■ 


■ 


ALFRED  FURNALD. 


2 17 


her  husband  to  come  in.  He  asked  her  what  she  wanted, 
and  she  replied  “  nothing  particular.”  Furnald  entered  the 
house,  came  out  again,  and  told  one  of  the  workmen  that 
Mrs.  Furnald  wanted  him.  The  man  asked  him  what  she 
wanted,  and  he  replied  that  the  child  was  dying.  The  man 
went  in  just  in  time  to  see  the  infant  expire. 

Neither  Furnald  nor  any  of  his  family  expressed  the  least 
concern,  matters  went  on  as  if  no  one  were  sick  or  dead,  and 
no  physician  was  summoned.  When  the  corpse  was  laid  out 
for  burial  it  was  an  object  too  shocking  to  look  twice  upon. 
It  was  literally  skin,  bone  and  muscle,  covered  with  filth  and 
vermin.  News  of  the  fact  spread  all  over  the  country,  and 
the  voice  of  an  unanimous  community  demanded  an  inquest 
on  the  dead  body  of  Alfred  Furnald.  The  guilty  father  fled. 
The  corpse  was  dissected  by  an  able  surgeon  and  it  was  at 
once  apparent  that  the  child  had  died  of  inanition.  The  in¬ 
quest  pronounced  Amos  Furnald  and  his  wife  guilty  of  mur¬ 
der.  After  some  resistance  he  was  arrested,  and,  with  his 
wife,  examined  by  the  proper  authorities  and  committed  to 
prison.  The  grand  jury,  after  hearing  witnesses,  brought  a 
true  bill  against  them  for  wilful  murder,  and  they  were  ar¬ 
raigned  before  the  Superior  Court  of  Judicature  in  Septem¬ 
ber  eighteen  hundred  and  twenty-four.  They  pleaded  not 
guilty  and  the  trial  was  postponed  till  the  next  term,  when  they 
were  brought  up  again. 

These  facts  were  fully  proved,  if  the  witnesses  for  the 
government  are  to  be  credited.  The  prisoner’s  eldest  daugh¬ 
ter,  however,  a  girl  of  sixteen,  testified  that  the  deceased  was 
well  treated  in  every  particular.  The  jury  returned  a  verdict 
of  manslaughter. 

Alfred  Furnald  was  notwithstanding  believed  to  have  been 
taken  off  by  foul  and  damnable  means.  We  think  that  a  deep 
stain  was  imprinted  on  the  escutcheon  of  New  Hampshire,  no 
less  by  his  inhuman  death  than  by  the  mitigated  verdict  of  the 
jury.  The  circumstances  of  the  prisoners  being  poor  and 
the  parents  of  a  large  family  should  not  have  been  of  any 
advantage  to  them.  Their  jeopardy  and  distress  were  of 
trifling  consequence  to  the  community  compared  with  the 
influence  of  a  too  lenient  verdict  on  the  morals  and  character 
of  the  rising  generation.  Judging  from  the  evidence  on 
record  we  are  of  opinion  that  their  guilt  was  beyond  a 
doubt,  and  that  the  jury  should  have  forgotten  to  pity.  If 
pity  should  have  been  felt,  it  was  for  society  at  large,  and 


218 


ELIJAH  P.  GOODRICH. 


not  for  the  stony  hearted  monsters  who  beheld  a  helpless 
infant  perishing  slowly  by  cold,  disease  and  famine,  and  who 
neither  soothed  its  parting  spirit,  nor  followed  its  body  to  the 
grave. 


ELIJAH  P.  GOODRICH, 

COMMONLY  CALLED  MAJOR  GOODRICH. 

The  first  account  we  have  of  this  wretch  is  that  he  entered 
as  a  foremast  hand  on  board  the  schooner  Jones  Eddy  of 
Portsmouth,  Richard  Sutton  master.  The  vessel  was  bound 
to  the  West  Indies.  During  his  stay  on  board,  Goodrich  be¬ 
haved  in  a  very  disorderly  manner,  was  habitually  disodedient 
and  more  than  once  endeavoured  to  bring  about  a  mutiny. 
The  Jones  Eddy  touched  at  Mevis,  St.  Christopher,  and  St. 
Croix,  at  which  latter  place  Goodrich  deserted,  and  the  mas¬ 
ter  considered  himself  fortunate  in  being  rid  of  him.  Beside 
this  account,  Mr.  Sutton  deposed  that  his  character  was  whol¬ 
ly  bad,  and  that  he  was  unworthy  of  the  least  confidence. 

We  next  find  him  established  as  a  merchant  at  Bangor  in 
Maine,  and  enjoying  considerable  credit.  In  December  eigh¬ 
teen  hundred  and  sixteen  he  left  Bangor  in  a  single  sleigh  for 
Boston,  and  reached  Brunswick  without  mischance.  Here 
he  gave  the  first  proof  of  that  fertility  of  invention  which  has 
rendered  him  so  distinguished,  and  might  have  insured  him  a 
high  rank  among  the  American  poets  had  it  been  properly 
directed.  He  told  the  landlord  of  the  inn  where  he  put  up 
that  he  had  made  his  fortune  the  spring  before  by  catching 
shad,  and  his  method  of  taking  these  fishes  was  truly  ingeni¬ 
ous.  He  had  moored  a  scow  in  the  middle  of  the  stream,  he 
said,  and  built  a  rail  fence  round  it.  Finding  their  passage 
up  stream  obstructed,  the  shad  would  leap  into  the  scow  as 
fast  as  ten  men  could  secure  them. 

He  tarried  long  enough  at  Portland  to  buy  a  pair  of  pistols 
of  Mr.  E.  Wyer.  He  also  offered  a  number  of  soldiers’  land 
patents  for  sale,  but  was  unable  to  show  any  of  them  when 
asked.  At  Alfred  Mr  Goodrich  put  up  at  a  tavern  where  he 
had  a  conversation  with  the  landlord’s  son  on  the  topics  of 
lumber  and  ship-building.  In  this  discourse  he  again  indul- 


ELIJAH  P.  GOODRICH. 


2 19 


ged  his  predilection  for  the  marvellous,  saying  he  had  built  a 
large  ship  entirely  of  wild  juniper,  and  sent  her  to  Boston 
When  on  the  point  of  departure,  as  the  young  man  was  putting 
his  baggage  into  his  sleigh,  he  desired  him  to  be  careful  of  the 
pistols,  and  observed  that  it  was  very  dangerous  for  a  gentle¬ 
man  in  his  capacity  to  travel  unarmed.  Before  he  left  the 
place,  however,  he  stopped  to  breakfast  at  another  inn,  where 
he  expressed  his  fear  of  being  robbed,  but  consoled  himself 
with  the  reflection  that  he  had  an  excellent  pair  of  pistols 
about  him.  At  Berwick  he  again  threw  the  reins  on  the  neck 
of  his  fancy  and  told  a  very  worthy  landlady  that  he  had  liv¬ 
ed  in  Bangor  ten  years,  had  made  his  fortune,  and  was  now 
returning  home  in  style,  as  became  him,  with  between  four 
and  five  thousand  dollars  in  his  pockets.  He  again  avowed 
his  apprehension  of  robbery,  but  said  it  would  take  at  least  four 
stout  men  to  plunder  him,  as  he  was  well  armed. 

At  Dover  Goodrich  put  up  for  the  night  at  Mr.  Riley’s 
inn.  In  the  morning  he  brought  his  portmanteau  from  his  bed 
chamber  into  the  room  where  Mr.  Riley  was  sitting,  and  pro¬ 
ducing  a  pocket  pistol,  said,  u  Old  daddy,  are  you  not  afraid 
of  this?”  Mr.  Riley,  though  a  very  old  man,  was  nothing 
daunted  by  this  very  uncivil  question,  and  coolly  replied, 
“  No,  boy,  nor  of  you  either.  I  have  seen  more  gunpowder 
burnt  when  America  was  fighting  for  her  independence  than 
you  ever  saw  in  your  life.”  Satisfied  with  this  courageous  de¬ 
monstration  Goodrich  put  up  his  pistol  and  departed. 

When  he  arrived  at  Exeter  he  called  for  a  dinner,  and  put 
up  his  sleigh,  having  resolved  to  perform  the  rest  of  his  jour¬ 
ney  on  horseback.  He  sent  a  boy  to  buy  him  some  very  small 
pistol  balls,  which  when  he  had  gotten  he  found  too  small  for 
his  purpose,  and  the  youth  then  procured  some  still  less.  He 
next  asked  for  a  private  apartment,  in  which  he  managed  to 
make  it  sufficiently  public  that  he  was  loading  a  pocket  pistol, 
probably  the  same  he  had  shown  to  Mr.  Riley.  Thus  prepar¬ 
ed  to  resist  any  attempt  at  violence,  he  mounted  his  horse 
amidst  the  laughter  of  the  bystanders,  and  set  off*  on  the  road 
to  Boston. 

He  reached  Kensington  before  dark,  and  then,  in  passing 
through  Salisbury,  missed  his  way — as  he  swore.  It  is  prob¬ 
able  he  was  again  misled  by  his  imagination  in  this  particular, 
as  there  was  but  one  road,  too  plain  to  be  missed.  He  reach¬ 
ed  Essex  Bridge  in  safety  just  before  nine  o’clock,  paid  his 
toll  into  the  hands  of  Mr.  Ebenezer  Pearson,  and  passed  over. 
Two  wagons,  driven  by  two  men  named  Keyser  and  Shaw 


220 


ELIJAH  P.  GOODRICH. 


passed  immediately  after,  and  before  these  got  to  the  top  of 
the  hill  next  beyond  the  bridge  the  mail  stage  overtook  and 
passed  them.  As  to  what  happened  to  the  Major  after  he 
crossed  the  bridge  we  must  take  his  own  word,  and  we  are 
sorry  its  authority  is  no  better. 

As  he  was  riding  up  the  hill,  and  at  the  distance  of  about 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  bridge,  he  swore  that  a  man  sprang 
toward  him  from  the  side  of  the  road.  His  horse  started  and 
had  nearly  thrown  him.  The  man  seized  his  bridle,  present- 
*  ed  a  pistol,  and  demanded  his  money.  The  Major  desired 
him  to  wait  till  he  could  get  it,  and  under  pretence  of  feeling 
for  his  valuables,  cocked  a  pistol,  and  tried  to  strike  the  rob¬ 
ber’s  weapon  aside.  The  thief  fired  just  as  the  Major  was 
presenting  his  pistol,  and  at  the  same  moment  saw  two  others 
approaching.  He,  at  that  moment,  became  insensible,  from 
some  cause  not  specified. 

When  his  senses  returned,  the  robbers  were  dragging  him 
into  the  field  hard  by.  He  cried  for  help — and  they  choked 
him.  He  attempted  to  bite,  but  finding  resistance  vain,  at 
last  became  passive.  They  jumped  on  him,  stripped  him, 
turned  him  over  and  finally  left  him.  He  then  again  cried  for 
help  and  they  returned.  He  rushed  on  them  and  seized  one, 
but  was  overpowered  in  the  struggle  and  again  left  senseless. 

Mark,  reader,  while  this  violent  transaction  was  going  on, 
while  Major  Goodrich  was  being  maltreated  by  the  robbers, 
while  he  was  crying  for  help  and  struggling  with  them,  the 
mail  stage,  full  of  passengers,  and  the  two  teamsters  passed 
the  spot,  without  hearing  the  slightest  noise,  though  the  night 
was  very  still.  All  was  as  quiet  as  the  grave. 

Major  Goodrich  had  no  recollection  of  what  happened  to 
him  after  his  final  struggle  with  the  robbers  till  he  found  him¬ 
self  at  the  bridge,  shot  through  the  hand,  badly  wounded  in 
the  side,  his  head  aching  with  blows  and  his  hip  sprained.  It 
is  a  little  remarkable  that  he  should  have  passed  several  houses 
where  the  people  were  up  and  lights  burning  on  his  way 
from  the  scene  of  robbery  to  the  bridge,  and  that  in  a  state 
of  insensibility.  Perhaps  the  reason  may  be  this:  it  was 
necessary  to  get  rid  of  the  above  mentioned  pocket  pistol,  and 
it  was  not  safe  to  throw  it  where  it  might  be  found  again.  He 
probably  thought  it  best  to  hide  it  in  the  river,  and  therefore 
returned  to  the  bridge. 

It  appears  by  other  and  better  testimony  than  Goodrich’s 
oath,  that  a  little  before  ten  he  arrived  at  Mr.  Ebenezer  Pear¬ 
son’s  house  again.  Mr.  Pearson  Jr  went  out  of  the  door  and 


ELIJAH  P  GOODRICH. 


221 


met  this  much  abused  personage,  who  laid  hands  on  him 
exclaiming,  “  You  are  the  d — d  robber.”  Mr.  Pearson  se¬ 
nior  then  came  forth  and  Goodrich  was  taken  into  the  house, 
apparently  delirious,  and  raving  about  robbers  and  his  gold 
watch.  Here  he  received  every  possible  attention,  and  a 
physician  was  immediately  sent  for. 

When  the  physician  (Dr.  Moses  Carter)  arrived,  Goodrich 
was  walking  about  the  room  into  which  he  had  been  introduc¬ 
ed,  talking  incoherently.  He  expressed  a  desire  to  go  to  the 
place  where  he  had  been  robbed  to  look  for  his  watch,  and  Mr. 
Elias  Jackman  and  some  others  went  with  him.  He  walked 
sturdily  along  till  he  was  near  the  place,  when  he  became 
faint,  and  the  others  carried  him  a  little  farther  and  then  set 
him  down.  He  desired  them  to  take  his  pistol  and  shoot 
him  rather  than  drag  him  along  so.  They  carried  him  back 
to  the  house,  in  what  they  thought  an  expiring  condition,  but 
Dr.  Carter  on  feeling  his  pulse  said  it  was  as  healthy  as  that 
of  any  one  present  and  that  it  was  no  dying  case.  The  peo¬ 
ple  were  nevertheless  much  agitated,  for  Goodrich  complained 
of  severe  bruises  on  the  back  of  his  head  and  on  his  body. 
The  doctor  dressed  his  hand  and  then  examined  him  strictly, 
but  found  no  external  mark  of  injury  except  the  aforesaid 
wound  in  the  hand  and  a  very  slight  scratch  in  the  arm.  He 
then  said  that  he  had  fired  his  pistol  and  nearly  knocked 
down  one  of  the  robbers,  that  some  one  had  searched  his 
bosom  and  taken  his  watch  from  his  fob. 

In  the  meanwhile,  as  the  unfortunate  Major  continued  anx¬ 
ious  about  his  watch,  some  of  the  neighbours  went  to  the 
field  of  battle  at  his  request,  for  he  had  by  this  time  somewhat 
recovered.  They  found  his  whip  and  pistol  in  the  road,  and 
in  the  field  his  pocketbook,  vallise,  portmanteau,  clothes,  pa¬ 
pers,  hat  and  some  money.  The  hat  was  beat  in,  and  there 
was  blood  on  it.  His  watch  they  found  laid  carefully  under 
a  board,  with  the  face  upward  and  going. 

Those  who  went  the  next  morning  to  the  spot  where  the 
robbery  was  alleged  to  have  been  committed,  found  in  the 
field  a  screw  belonging  to  the  pistol  Goodrich  had  left  in 
the  road.  Query,  if  the  pistol  left  his  hand  in  the  first 
scuffle  how  came  the  screw  in  the  spot  where  the  second  took 
place?  Moreover  there  was  blood  on  the  head  of  the  screw 
corresponding  with  more  on  the  stock  of  the  pistol.  On  the 
very  spot  where  the  Major  said  he  first  lost  his  senses  a  horse 
had  staled.  It  may  be  doubted  if  the  beast  would  have  per¬ 
formed  this  operation  while  a  person  was  robbed  on  his  back 
or  near  him. 


222 


ELIJAH  P.  GOODRICH. 


This  morning  Dr.  Israel  Balch  was  summoned  to  consult  with 
Dr  Carter.  He  found  Goodrich  lying  in  bed  raving.  While 
Dr  Carter  was  describing  the  case  the  patient  watched  him 
closely,  in  silence,  but  when  he  caught  Dr.  Balch’s  eye  he 
appeared  confused  and  looked  in  a  different  direction.  This 
led  Dr.  Balch  to  believe  that  his  delirium  was  mere  pretence. 
No  bruises  or  wounds  besides  those  above  mentioned  could 
be  discovered.  Presently  the  patient  called  for  Jerry  Balch 
and  the  last  named  physician  answered  that  he  was  J erry  Balch. 
Goodrich  said  “No,  you  are  not  Jerry  Balch.”  Being 
strongly  persuaded  that  this  incoherence  was  mere  sham, 
Dr.  Balch  adopted  a  stratagem  to  come  at  the  truth.  He 
went  down  stairs,  took  off  his  boots,  ^tole  softly  up  again  and 
peeped  in  at  the  door.  He  heard  the  bed  clothes  move  and 
saw  Goodrich  raise  himself  up  and  look  cautiously  around. 
Before  this  he  had  pretended  to  be  in  such  pain  that  it  took 
three  or  four  persons  to  turn  him  in  his  bed.  Dr.  Balch  saw 
him  adjust  his  hair  and  very  composedly  spit  on  the  floor. 

That  afternoon  he  was  removed  to  Newbury  port,  and  the 
next  day  he  again  pretended  delirium.  He  become  rational 
again  soon,  and  never  after  showed  any  appearance  of  insanity. 

On  examining  the  clothes  he  wore  at  the  time  of  the  sworn 
robbery,  it  was  found  that  a  ball  had  entered  the  inside  of  the 
cuff  of  the  surtout,  indicating  that  the  weapon  from  which  it 
came  had  been  directed  perpendicularly  to  the  palm  of  the 
hand,  and  must  have  been  fired  very  nigh,  for  the  garment  was 
burnt  and  blackened.  After  the  attending  physician  told  him 
he  might  go  abroad  safely,  Goodrich  kept  his  chamber  a  week. 

Goodrich  went  from  Newburyport  to  Danvers.  The 
belief  had  now  become  prevalent,  that  his  account  of  the 
robbery  was  a  fiction,  and  as  he  took  no  measures  to  discover 
the  robbers,  the  opinion  gained  ground.  Some  of  his  friends 
told  him  that  his  reputation  was  suffering,  and  he  was  thereby 
induced  to  take  more  active  measures.  Better  authority  being 
now  beyond  our  reach,  we  must  take  the  Major’s  word  for 
what  followed. 

Some  one  told  him  that  a  certain  Reuben  Taoer  was  a 
person  likely  to  have  been  concerned  in  the  robbery,  and  upon 
mature  deliberation,  he  recollected  that  a  person  answering 
to  Taber’s  description  had  taken  his  horse’s  bridle  when  he 
stopped  at  Exeter.  He  also  learned  that  Taber  frequented 
certain  cellars  about  the  market  in  Boston.  He  repaired  to 
Boston,  found  Taber,  identified  him  by  name  and  aske  d  him 
to  step  into  Bowden’s  tavern  in  order  to  converse,  but  Taber 
chose  rather  to  go  into  the  back  yard.  After  some  conversa- 


ELIJAH  P.  GOODRICH. 


223 


tion  Taber  said  he  had  formed  an  opinion  on  the  subject  of 
the  robbery,  that  it  would  endanger  his  life  to  point  out  the 
robbers,  but  for  three  hundred  dollars  he  would  disclose  all 
he  knew.  He  made  an  appointment  with  Taber  to  meet  a 
second  time,  but  Taber  did  not  keep  it.  Goodrich  therefore 
consulted  with  Mr.  William  Jones  and  other  friends,  who 
advised  him  to  disguise  himself,  in  order  to  meet  Taber.  He 
did  so. 

Mr.  Jones,  as  he  afterwards  testified,  accompanied  Goodrich 
to  the  market,  where  the  Major  left  him  for  three  quarters  of 
an  hour.  Goodrich  found  his  man  in  Ann  Street,  who  agreed 
to  give  him  the  names  of  the  robbers  for  four  hundred  dollars, 
payable  in  case  his  information  should  prove  correct.  Good¬ 
rich  accepted  the  terms,  and  Taber  gave  him  the  names  of 
Laban  and  Levi  Kcnniston  of  Ipswich,  who  he  said  must  have 
some  of  the  monejr,  if  they  had  not  already  spent  it.  During 
the  time  spent  as  thus,  alleged,  Mr.  Jones  was  watching 
Goodrich,  and  actually  saw  him  conversing  with  a  person  . 
whom  he  believed  to  be  Taber.  When  Taber  was  afterwards 
produced  before  a  court,  Mr.  Jones  swore  he  believed  him  to 
be  the  same  man. 

Major  Goodrich  then  went  to  Hanvers  and  communicated 
these  particulars  to  a  Mr.  Page,  who  consented  to  assist  him 
in  finding  and  apprehending  the  Kennistons.  They  were  ac¬ 
cordingly  apprehended  and  committed  for  trial.  The  Major’s 
suspicions  next  fell  upon  Mr.  Ebenezer  Pearson,  senior,  the 
good  Samaritan  who  had  so  kindly  received  and  sheltered  him 
on  the  night  of  the  pretended  robbery.  He  caused  this  gen¬ 
tleman  to  be  arrested  and  hired  a  quack  to  goto  his  residence 
with  a  divining  rod,  to  search  for  gold  and  silver.  It  seems 
he  had  more  faith  than  is  common  in  this  our  Israel,  as  he 
believed  there  was  virtue  in  a  forked  branch  of  hazel  to  dis¬ 
cover  what  never,  probably,  was  lost.  Nothing  was  found, 
and  Mr.  Pearson  was  discharged  without  a  trial.  Goodrich 
seems  to  have  been,  for  awhile,  ashamed  of  this  conduct,  for 
he  offered  to  make  every  atonement  in  his  power  for  the  affront 
to  Mr.  Pearson.  This  interval  of  good  feeling  did  not  last 
long.  He  came  again  to  the  house  with  a  sheriff,  and  searched 
from  garret  to  cellar.  While  the  inquest  was  going  on,  Good¬ 
rich  was  seen  going  to  the  privy,  and  on  his  return,  proposed 
and  urged  that  that  building  should  be  searched.  The  search 
took  place,  and  some  papers  were  found  which  Goodrich 
swore  were  his.  Some  pieces  of  money  were  also  discovered 
in  such  circumstances  as  almost  amount  to  proof  positive 
that  Goodrich  dropped  them  himself. 


224 


ELIJAH  P  GOODRICH. 


The  Major  also  entertained  suspicions  of  Mr.  Joseph  Jack- 
man,  a  gentleman  who  lived  near  Essex  Bridge,  who  had  gone 
to  New  York  immediately  after  the  robbery.  Him  he  fol¬ 
lowed  and  arrested,  and  found  as  he  afterwards  swore, 
several  wrappers  of  money  in  his  possession,  which  he  identi¬ 
fied  as  his  own.  He  wrote  from  New  York  that  Mr.  Jackman 
made  a  strenuous  resistance,  than  which  nothing  could  be 
more  false. 

The  Kenniston’s  were  put  to  the  bar  with  Reuben  Taber 
on  an  indictment  for  robbery.  Taber  moved  for  a  separate 
trial,  which  was  granted. 

From  the  evidence  it  appeared,  in  favor  of  Goodrich,  that 
the  money  of  which  he  said  he  was  robbed  was  his  own,  and 
that  what  he  saved  belonged  to  other  persons.  Several 
witnesses  testified  to  his  general  good  character.  It  was 
proved  that  the  Kennistons  were  in  Newbury  port  the  evening 
of  the  robbery,  and  they  gave  no  account  of  the  manner  in 
which  they  passed  the  time  from  seven  o’clock  to  ten.  Dif¬ 
ferent  witnesses  swore  to  the  following  facts.  A  Mr.  Leavitt 
who  assisted  to  search  their  house,  swore  that  he  went  into  a 
certain  apartment  thereof,  before  any  other  one  of  the  party, 
opened  a  drawer  and  found  in  it  a  ten  dollar  bill  of  the  Bos¬ 
ton  Bank,  carefully  rolled  up.  Suspecting  it  to  be  a  counter¬ 
feit  he  threw  it  back,  and  did  not  mention  the  circumstance 
to  any  one.  Shortly  after  another  of  the  assistants,  named 
Upton,  went  to  the  draw,  found  a  ten  dollar  bill,  and  carried 
it  away.  On  seeing  it,  Goodrich  claimed  it  as  his  own, 
knowing  it,  as  he  said,  by  certain  words  written  on  the  back 
Upton  also  took  down  a  pair  of  pantaloons  from  a  bed  post  on 
which  they  were  hanging,  and  found  in  the  pocket  a  pocket- 
book  containing  gold.  Now,  as  the  Kenniston’s  were  very 
poor,  shiftless  men,  it  was  not  probable  they  could  have  ob¬ 
tained  gold  honestly.  Again,  Upton  in  searching  the  cellar, 
found  several  pieces  of  gold. 

It  seems,  also,  that  when  Levi  Kenniston  was  arrested  he 
“  appeared  agitated  and  perspired  profusely  though  the  weather 
was  cold,  looking  guilty,  and  frequently  changing  countenance 
when  urged  by  those  around  him  to  confess  what  he  knew  of 
the  robbery.” 

On  the  other  hand  it  appeared  that  the  whole  story  about 
Taber  was  a  sheer  falsehood,  for  the  man  was  on  the  limits  of 
the  Boston  jail  at  the  time  of  the  robbery,  and  long  after.  An 
alibi  was  also  proved  in  the  case  of  Jackman.  It  was  shown 
that  the  Kennistons  had  no  means  of  knowing  that  a  man  was 


Elijah  p.  Goodrich. 


225 


to  pass  at  the  time  of  the  robbery  with  money.  At  the 
moment  Goodrich  was  exhibiting  his  pistol  in  Exeter  the 
Kennistons  were  in  Newburyport,  where  they  remained  the 
next  day,  without  fear  or  alarm.  It  appeared  that  they  lived 
together  in  the  same  house  with  their  sister,  and  their  father 
lived  in  another  part  of  the  same  house.  When  the  house 
was  searched,  gold  was  found  in  two  places  where  Goodrich 
had  previously  been,  where  he  might  have  put  it.  As  to  the 
bill,  the  sheriff  and  Upton  both  saw  writing  on  the  back  of  it 
before  Goodrich  saw  it.  It  was  proved  that  when  the  sheriff 
first  saw  the  bill  he  left  it  where  he  found  it,  and  that  Good¬ 
rich  was  alone  in  the  room  before  it  was  finally  taken  away. 
After  this  he  recognised  the  writing  on  it  as  his  own.  Thus 
he  had  an  opportunity  to  take  away  the  bill  first  seen  and  sub¬ 
stitute  another.  From  the  robbery  to  the  time  of  their  arrest, 
an  interval  of  six  weeks,  the  prisoners  exercised  their  usual 
employment,  and  were  not  seen  or  known  to  have  any  money. 
Moreover,  it  is  a  little  suspicious  that  in  each  of  his  several 
searches  Goodrich  identified  every  article  found,  every  scrap 
of  paper  as  his  own.  One  of  the  witnesses  said  that  the  pis¬ 
tol  found  in  the  road  appeared  not  to  have  been  fired  at  all, 
and  he  did  not  account  for  the  smaller  one  he  loaded  at  Exe¬ 
ter. 

The  jury  unanimously  found  the  prisoners  not  guilty,  and 
they  were  discharged. 

We  must  now  go  back  to  Mr.  Pearson.  His  character  was 
so  well  established  that  his  arrest  produced  a  strong  excite¬ 
ment.  When  he  was  discharged,  he  was  drawn  in  a  wheel 
carriage  to  his  house  by  the  populace  in  triumph.  He 
brought  an  action  against  Goodrich  for  defamation,  recovered 
two  thousand  dollars  damages,  and  the  Major  was  commit¬ 
ted  to  jail.  It  took  the  jury  but  five  minutes  to  agree  upon  a 
verdict. 

What  was  Goodrich’s  motive  for  inventing  his  tale  of  rob¬ 
bery  we  are  unable  even  to  guess.  Perhaps  he  owed  money 
in  Boston,  was  unable  to  pay,  and  was  willing  to  adduce 
a  plausible  apology.  Many  inclined  to  this  belief.  Perhaps 
his  conduct  was  the  effect  of  a  strong  desire  of  distinction. 
Other  men  have  been  known  to  prefer  infamy  to  obscurity.  Be¬ 
sides,  it  is  probable  he  did  not  foresee  the  consequences  of  his 
ill  contrived  deception.  He  might  not  at  first  have  thought  he 
should  be  obliged  to  prosecute  any  one,  or  seal  his  falsehood 
with  perjury.  He  manifested  no  zeal  in  the  pursuit,  but  ap¬ 
pears  to  have  taken  every  step  at  the  instigation  of  others 


226 


DANIEL  H.  COREY. 


A  tragedy  resulted  from  the  farce  common^  -.ailed  the 
Goodrich  robbery.  There  lived  in  Salisbury  an  old  man 
named  Colburn  or  Colby,  who  had  been  a  soldier  of  the  revo¬ 
lution.  Some  time  before  the  events  we  have  recorded  took 
place  he  made  affidavit  of  his  military  services  in  order  to  ob¬ 
tain  a  pension.  He  unwittingly  foreswore  himself,  saying  he 
had  served  in  seventeen  hundred  and  seventy  five,  whereas  the 
fact  was  he  had  been  a  soldier  in  seventeen  hundred  and  seventy 
six.  This  was  excusable,  for  his  memory,  as  well  as  his  other 
faculties,  were  much  impaired  by  age.  Yet,  when  he  discover¬ 
ed  his  mistake  it  bore  heavily  on  his  mind:  he  believed  himself 
guilty  of  perjury  and  liable  to  suffer  its  penalties.  He  fre¬ 
quently  spoke  on  the  subject,  and  several  thoughtless  young 
persons  in  the  neighbourhood  made  sport  of  and  increased  his 
apprehensions. 

After  the  trial  of  the  Kennistons  the  people  erected  a  gib¬ 
bet  and  hanged  Goodrich  in  effigy  near  the  house  where 
Colby  lived.  The  gallows  stood  for  a  long  time,  to  the  great 
terror  of  the  old  man,  who  imagined  it  was  intended  for  him¬ 
self  in  case  he  should  be  convicted  of  perjury.  He  imagined 
every  stranger  he  saw  was  an  officer  come  to  arrest  him. 
Those  about  him  amused  themselves  by  confirming  his  fears, 
till  the  old  soldier,  driven  frantic  by  the  fear  of  infamy,  actual¬ 
ly  hanged  himself. 


DANIEL  H.  COREY. 

This  iniserable  person  was  a  poor  husbandman  of  the  town¬ 
ship  of  Sullivan  in  New  Hampshire.  His  was  a  case  of  he¬ 
reditary  insanity.  His  father  was  deranged  in  mind  and  so 
was  one  of  his  sisters.  Daniel  Corey  had  also  had  several 
severe  falls  on  his  head,  sufficient  alone  to  have  induced  ali¬ 
enation  of  mind.  He  did  not  refrain  from  the  use  of  ardent 
spirits,  as  under  such  circumstances  he  should  have  done, 
and  it  is  probable  that  his  habits  tended  to  increase  and  irri¬ 
tate  his  constitutional  infirmity. 

Some  t»me  in  the  year  eighteen  hundred  and  twenty-nine  he 
imagined  he  had  discovered  a  mine  of  gold  and  silver  on  his 
farm,  which  piece  of  good  fortune  he  made  known  to  his  neigh¬ 
bours.  He  dug  a  hole  in  the  ground  five  feet  long  and  two 


DANIEL  H.  COREY. 


227 


deep,  and  exhibited  sand  which  he  believed  to  be  gold  dust. 
To  those  who  conversed  with  him  on  the  subject  he  said  that 
the  metal  extended  over  his  farm,  his  house,  and  was  fast 
getting  into  his  neighbours  ground.  He  declared  himself  the 
richest  man  in  the  world,  and  averred  that  he  and  his  wife 
were  to  be  crowned  king  and  queen  of  America.  Once  he 
directed  his  son  to  cover  his  mine  with  boards,  and  it  was  done. 
Nor  was  this  the  whole  of  his  delusion,  he  was,  it  seems,  a 
firm  believer  in  witchcr3.fi;,  and  was  convinced  that  the  ghost  of 
an  Indian  kept  watch  over:  his  treasure  in  the  form  of  a  snake. 
He  thought  his  black  cat  was  bewitched,  and  shot  her  with  a 
silver  coin;  nay,  took  many  precautions  against  sorcery.  At 
one  time  he  said  his  wife  had  engaged  a  dozen  men  to  come 
from  W alpole  to  kill  him,  and  that  they  had  attacked  him  with 
guns,  but  did  not  prevail,  for  his  guardian  angel  protected  him. 
Sometimes  his  language  was  profane,  at  others  he  imagined 
himself  called  to  preach  the  gospel.  Many  and  various  were 
the  indications  of  his  mental  derangement,  beside  what  we  have 
related. 

About  the  first  of  June  he  went  to  work  in  a  Wood,  but 
soon  returned,  affirming  that  he  had  been  shot  at  with  an  air 
gun,  and  had  heard  a  bullet  whistle  by  his  head.  He  said 
his  life  was  in  danger,  and  would  not  return  to  the  wood. 
About  the  same  time  he  declared  that  he  had  been  thrown 
from  a  log  in  his  wood,  and  fell  upon  his  heqd,  which  made  him 
think  the  Devil  was  seeking  to  destroy  him.  A  bee  flying 
into  the  window  put  him  in  great  distress — he  said  it  was  a 
spirit  come  to  carry  him  to  hell. 

On  the  eighth  of  June  he  declared  that  the  country  was  at 
war,  that  the  British  had  attacked  the  Americans,  and  was  of 
opinion  that  every  man  ought  to  fight.  He  asked  the  person 
to  whom  he  delivered  this  intelligence  if  he  had  not  seen 
strange  sights  and  heard  singular  noises.  The  next  day  he 
labored  at  his  mine  and  the  day  after  showed  it  to  several  of 
his  neighbours.  On  the  twelfth  he  kept  his  wife  and  children 
confined  all  the  forenoon.  He  behaved  this  day  in  such  a 
manner  that  his  wife,  fearing  for  her  life,  procured  a  letter  to 
be  written  to  the  selectmen,  describing  the  situation  of  her 
family  and  desiring  them  to  take  care  of  her  husband.  She 
sent  this  letter  to  Mr.  Daniel  Nash,  with  a  request  that  he 
would  carry  it  to  the  selectmen,  but  he  neglected  to  do  so. 

About  noon  Corey  left  the  house  and  went  to  see  his  wife’s 
mother.  He  told  her  he  could  not  rest  at  home  because  his 
wife  was  crazy,  or  bewitched,  or  had  the  devil  in  her.  He 


228 


DANIEL  H.  COREY. 


Jaid  down  for  about  an  hour,  with  his  eyes  shut,  but  did  not 
sleep.  After  this  he  asked  his  mother-in-law  to  go  to  his 
house  and  see  if  she  u  could  not  make  his  wife  more  recon¬ 
ciled.”  She  went,  as  he  desired,  and  in  a  short  time  Corey 
came  home.  He  went  off  again  and  returned  about  dusk, 
saying  he  had  gotten  a  new  wife.  Then  he  prayed  for  his 
wife  and  spoke  incoherently  about  her.  That  night  Mrs. 
Corey  and  her  mother  occupied  one  bed,  but  could  get  no  rest 
for  his  ravings.  Toward  morning  he  slept  for  a  little  while. 
When  he  arose  he  went  to  his  mine,  returned,  and  said  his  an¬ 
gel  had  told  him  to  take  off  his  black  jacket  and  put  on  his 
red  one.  He  put  on  the  red  garment  and  began  to  talk  about 
his  mine.  His  angel,  he  said,  was  in  it  or  about  it;  it  was 
full  of  silver  and  gold,  his  house  was  covered  with  it,  but  his 
brother  Ben’s  had  none.  After  eating  a  scanty  breakfast  he 
went  out  with  his  staff.  A  block  with  a  hole  in  it  was  lying 
before  the  door.  He  put  his  cane  into  this  hole,  lifted  the 
block  and  walked  about  with  it. 

After  going  round  his  field  he  came  back  and  sat  down  on 
his  threshold.  After  sitting  awhile  he  put  his  arm  round  his 
wife’s  neck  and  said,  “  Now  we  shall  always  live  in  peace, 
now  I  have  conquered;  we  shall  always  live  happy.”  She 
soothingly  replied,  “  I  guess  we  shall.” 

His  wife  and  children  would  have  left  the  house,  but  he 
would  not  suffer  them,  and  said  if  they  did  he  would  knock 
them  down  with  his  staff.  He  then  took  down  his  gun,  look¬ 
ed  in  the  pan,  and  seeing  there  was  no  priming  put  it  up  again. 
He  thus  kept  his  family  within  an  hour  and  a  half,  when  he 
at  last  went  off  himself.  They  watched  him  till  he  was  out 
of  sight  and  then  fled  to  Mr.  Daniel  Nash’s  house.  Here 
Mrs.  Corey  asked  Mrs.  Matilda  Nash,  the  mother  of  Daniel, 
to  go  to  her  house,  and  unhappily  for  herself,  the  old  lady 
complied.  To  make  Corey  think  she  had  come  on  an  errand 
Mrs.  Nash  took  a  bundle  of  flax.  Her  grandaughter  Eliz¬ 
abeth  Nash  went  with  her. 

When  Mrs.  Nash  reached  Corey’s  house  she  found  the  lu¬ 
natic  lying  on  his  bed.  She  entered  and  inquired  after  his 
health.  He  replied,  u  Get  out  of  the  house,  or  I’ll  kill  you,” 
whereupon  the  old  lady  and  her  grandaughter  took  to  flight. 
He  snatched  his  gun  from  the  place  where  it  had  been 
hanging  and  followed.  When  he  overtook  Mrs.  Nash  he 
knocked  her  down  with  the  butt  of  his  gun,  and  repeated  the 
blow.  He  then  followed  the  child,  crying  “  Stop  her,”  but 
soon  gave  up  the  chase.  The  little  girl  went  directly  home 


CHARLES  F.  CLARK. 


229 


and  informed  her  father  of  what  had  happened.  He  repaired 
tathe  spot  and  found  his  mother  dead.  Her  skull  was  bro¬ 
ken  to  pieces,  and  the  broken  butt  of  the  gun  was  lying  on 
her  cheek.  '  , 

After  killing  Mrs.  Nash,  Corey  went  toward  his  mine,  and 
at  a  short  distance  met  three  men,  one  his  brother,  who  had 
been  attracted  that  way  by  the  cry  of  murder.  He  had  a 
pail  on  his  arm  and  a  gun  barrel  in  his  hand,  bloody,  as  were 
his  sleeves.  His  brother  asked  him  what  he  had  been  doing; 
and  he  replied,  u  I  don’t  know — what  have  I?”  He  gave  up 
the  gun  barrel  without  resistance,  and  as  they  thought  that  he 
had  only  killed  his  dog  they  left  him.  But  when  they  came 
to  the  body  of  Mrs.  Nash  they  followed  him,  accompanied  by 
Daniel  Nash,  who  by  this  time  had  come  up.  They  found 
him  in  the  bushes  near  his  mine.  He  picked  up  stones,  but 
did  not  throw  them,  and  they  laid  hands  on  him.  Nash,  who 
had  the  breech  of  the  gun  in  his  hand,  told  him  that  if  he  at- 
empted  to  get  away,  he  would  smite  him.  Nash  also  said, 
u  You  have  killed  my  mother,”  to  which  he  replied  “  I  ha’ant. 
I  was  crazy.” 

He  was  arraigned  for  this  homicide  before  the  Superior 
Cou-rt  of  Judicature  on  the  fifteenth  of  June  eighteen  hun¬ 
dred  and  twenty-nine.  Many  proofs  of  his  insanity  beside 
those  we  have  related  were  adduced  before  the  jury,  which, 
with  the  apparent  want  of  motive,  and  absence  of  malicious 
intent,  induced  the  jury  to  acquit  him  on  the  score  of  insanity. 


CHARLES  F.  CLARK. 

No  principle  in  criminal  law  is  more  universally  admitted  than 
that  the  insane  man  is  not  responsible  for  his  acts;  that  guilt 
does  not  attach  to  the  individual  who  is  unconscious  of  his 
deeds  ;  that  it  is  the  criminal  mind,  the  wicked  intent,  which 
makes  him  the  subject  of  punishment,  and  yet  this  principle 
must  be  received  with  some  qualification.  Voluntary  insan¬ 
ity,  brought  on  by  indulgence  and  excess,  is  no  excuse  for 
crime.  A  homicide  committed  in  the  phrensy  of  intoxication 
subjects  the  offender  to  punishment.  And  here  insanity  and 
its  cause  must  not  be  confounded.  The  law  discriminates 
C  11 


230 


CHARLES  F.  CLARK. 


between  the  delirium  of  intoxication  and  the  insanity  which 
it  sometimes  produces.  While  the  drunkenness  continues, 
the  person  under  its  influence  is  responsible  as  a  moral  agent, 
though  reason  in  the  meantime  has  lost  her  dominion  ;  but 
when  the  intoxication  ceases,  if  insanity  immediately  follow 
as  a  consequence  of  the  vice,  he  is  in  the  eye  of  criminal  jus¬ 
tice,  no  longer  amenable  for  his  acts.  This  legal  distinction 
in  the  criminality  of  acts  in  relation  to  insanity  and  its  causes, 
is  exemplified  in  cases  of  delirium  tremens ,  a  species  of  mad¬ 
ness  which  often  deprives  the  sufferer  of  the  power  of  distin¬ 
guishing  between  right  and  wrong,  and  which  medical  wri¬ 
ters  attribute  to  frequent  intoxication,  or  the  sudden  cessation 
from  habitual  drinking,  or  to  the  combined  effect  of  both  up¬ 
on  the  system.  But  however  just  the  distinction,  it  does  not 
appear  to  have  been  judicially  settled  before  the  decision  of 
Justices  Story  and  Davis,  in  a  late  case,  which  it  is  the  de¬ 
sign  of  these  few  preliminary  remarks  to  introduce. 

At  the  May  term,  A.  D.  eighteen  hundred  and  twenty- 
eight,  of  the  Circuit  Court  of  the  United  States,  Alexander 
Drew,  commander  of  the  whaling  ship  John  Jay,  was  indict¬ 
ed  and  tried  for  the  murder  of  his  second  mate,  Charles  F. 
Clark,  while  upon  the  high  seas.  It  appeared  in  evidence 
that  previously  to  the  voyage,  during  which  the  fatal  act  took 
place,  Drew  had  sustained  a  fair  character,  and  was  much 
respected  in  the  towm  of  Nantucket,  where  he  belonged.  It 
was  proved  that  he  was  a  man  of  humane  and  benevolent  dis¬ 
position,  but  that  for  several  months  he  had  been  addicted 
to  the  use  of  ardent  spirits,  and  for  weeks  during  the  voyage 
had  drunk  to  excess  ;  that  he  made  a  resolution  to  reform,  and 
suddenly  abstaining  from  drinking,  he  was  seized  with  the 
delirium  tremens,  and  that  while  under  the  influence  of  the 
disease  he  made  an  attack  upon  CJark,  and  gave  him  the  stab 
of  which  he  afterwards  died. 

The  first  witness  who  testified  in  the  case  was  George  Gal¬ 
loway,  the  cooper  on  board  the  ship.  He  stated  that  he  join¬ 
ed  the  ship  in  the  Pacific  Ocean  ;  that  he  found  Capt.  Drew 
to  be  an  amiable  man,  kind  to  his  crew  and  attentive  to  his 
business,  but  that  he  often  indulged  to  excess  in  spirituous 
liquors.  During  the  latter  part  of  August,  eighteen  hundred 
and  twenty-seven,  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  drinking  very 
freely  ;  that  they  spoke  a  ship  from  which  Capt.  Drew  ob¬ 
tained  a  keg  of  liquor,  and  after  he  returnedrfo  his  own  ves¬ 
sel  he  drank  until  he  became  stupified  :  that  soon  after  he 
recovered  a  little  from  his  intoxication,  and  ordered  the  keg 


CHARLES  F.  CLARK. 


23} 


with  its  contents  to  be  thrown  overboard,  and  it  was  accord¬ 
ingly  done.  There  being  now  no  more  liquor  on  board  of  the 
ship,  and  none  to  be  procured,  Capt.  Drew,  in  two  or  three 
days  discovered  signs  of  derangement.  He  could  not  sleep, 
had  no  appetite,  thought  the  crew  had  conspired  to  kill  him, 
expressed  great  fears  of  an  Indian  who  belonged  to  the  ship, 
called  him  by  name  when  he  was  not  present,  begged  he 
would  not  kill  him,  saying  to  himself  he  would  not  drink  any 
more  rum.  Sometimes  he  would  sing  obscene  songs  and 
sometimes  hymns,  would  be  found  alternately  praying  and 
swearing.  In  the  night  of  the  thirty-first  of  August,  Drew 
came  on  deck  and  attempted  to  jump  overboard,  and  when 
the  witness  caught  hold  of  him  he  sunk  down  trembling  and 
appeared  to  be  very  weak.  His  appearance  the  next  morn¬ 
ing  the  witness  described  to  be  that  of  a  foolish  person. 

At  seven  o’clock  in  the  morning  of  the  first  of  September 
the  witness,  Capt.  Drew,  and  others,  were  at  breakfast  in  the 
cabin,  when  Drew  suddenly  left  the  table  and  appeared  to  con¬ 
ceal  something  under  his  jacket  which  was  on  the  transom  in 
another  part  of  the  cabin.  He  immediately  turned  round  to 
Mr.  Clark  and  requested  him  to  go  upon  deck;  the  reply  of 
Clark  was  “when  I  have  done  my  breakfast,  sir.”  Drew  said 
“  go  upon  deck,  or  I  will  help  you,”  arid  immediately  took 
from  the  transom  a  knife  whicfy  had  been  covered  over  by  his 
jacket,  and  before  another  word  was  spoken  by  either,  he 
stabbed  Clark  in  the  right  side  of  his  breast.  Clark  was 
rising  from  his  chair  at  the  time  the  knife  struck  him,  and  im¬ 
mediately  fell  upon  the  floor.  He  afterwards  rose  up  and 
went  upon  deck  alone — As  the  witness  left  the  cabin,  Drew 
cocked  his  pistol,  and  pointed  it  at  him,  and  snapped  it  but  it 
missed  fire.  Capt.  Drew  followed  them  upon  deck,  and  ad¬ 
dressing  the  chief  mate  said,  “Mr.  Coffin,  in  twenty-four  hours 
from  this,  Ahe  ship  shall  go  ashore.” — He  was  then  seized, 
bound  hand  and  foot,  arid  a  guard  was  stationed  over  him. 
His  whole  demeanor  for  some  time  after  was  that  of  an  insane 
person.  He  would  frequently  call  upon  persons  who  were  not 
on  board,  and  who  never  had  connexion  with  the  ship.  Some 
weeks  after,  when  Drew  first  appeared  to  be  in  his  right  mind, 
he  was  informed  of  the  death  of  Clark  and  its  cause,  he  re¬ 
plied  that  he  knew  nothing  about  it,  that  when  he  awoke  he 
found  himself  handcuffed,  and  that  it  all  appeared  to  him  like 
a  dream.  There  had  not  been  for  months  any  quarrel  or  high 
words  between  Clark  and  Capt.  Drew. 

The  second  witness  was  Moses  Coffin,  the  first  mate  of 


232 


CHARLES  F.  CLARK. 


the  ship.  Coffin  stated  that  Capt.  Drew  had  been  in  the 
habit  of  drinking,  and  that  it  was  by  the  order  of  Drew  that 
the  keg  of  spirits  was  thrown  overboard.  He  recounted  nu¬ 
merous  instances  in  addition  to  those  before  stated,  of  frivo¬ 
lous  complaints  made  by  Drew  of  his  countermanding  his 
orders,  of  his  fear  of  being  left  alone,  and  his  conversation 
with  the  imaginary  beings  by  whom  he  supposed  himself  sur¬ 
rounded,  all  going  to  prove  physical  weakness  and  alienation 
of  mind.  Though  familiar  with  his  habits,  the  witness  had 
not  before  this  affair  supposed  him  insane. 

With  regard  to  Clark,  the  witness  dressed  his  wound  and 
took  care  of  him.  Two  physicians  at  a  Spanish  port,  which 
they  reached  soon  after,  gave  it  as  their  opinion  that  it  was 
not  dangerous,  and  that  it  would  be  well  in  a  few  days  ;  but 
Clark  himself  had  said,  in  describing  his  complaint  to  witness, 
that  the  wound  caused  an  internal  flow  of  blood.  It  healed 
externally  before  Clark  expired. 

At  this  stage  of  the  proceeding,  the  Court  asked  the  Dis¬ 
trict  Attorney  if  he  expected  to  change  the  posture  of  the 
case.  He  admitted  that  unless  upon  the  facts  stated,  the 
Court  were  of  opinion  that  this  insanity,  brought  on  by  the 
antecedent  drunkenness  constituted  no  defence  for  the  act, 

•  he  could  not  expect  success  in  the  prosecution.  After  some 
consultation  the  opinion  of  the  Court  was  delivered  as  fol¬ 
lows  : 

“  We  are  of  opinion  that  the  indictment  upon  these  admitted 
facts  cannot  be  maintained .  The  prisoner  was  unquestionably 
insane  at  the  time  of  committing  the  offence.  And  the  ques¬ 
tion  made  at  the  bar  is  whether  insanity  whose  remote  cause 
is  habitual  drunkenness,  is  or  is  not  an  excuse  in  a  Court  of 
Law  for  a  homicide  committed  by  the  party,  while  so  insane, 
but  not  at  the  time  intoxicated  or  under  the  influence  of 
liquor.  We  are  clearly  of  opinion  that  insanity  £  a  compe¬ 
tent  excuse  in  such  a  case.  In  general,  insanity  is  an  excuse 
for  the  commission  of  any  crime,  because  the  party  has  not 
the  possession  of  his  reason  which  includes  responsibility. 
An  exception  is  when  the  crime  is  committed  by  a  party  while 
in  a  fit  of  intoxication,  the  law  not  permitting  a  man  to  avail 
himself  of  the  excuse  of  his  own  gross  sin  and  misconduct, 
to  shelter  himself  from  the  legal  consequences  of  such  crime. 
But  the  crime  must  take  place  and  be  the  immediate  result 
of  the  fit  of  intoxication,  and  while  it  lasts,  and  not  as  in  this 
case  a  remote  consequence,  superinduced  by  the  antecedent 
exhaustion  of  the  party,  arising  from  gross  and  habitual 


THE  SHIP  GLOBE. 


233 


drunkenness.  However  criminal,  in  a  moral  point  of  view, 
such  an  indulgence  is,  and  however  justly  a  party  may  be 
responsible  for  his  acts  arising  from  it  to  Almighty  God,  hu¬ 
man  tribunals  are  generally  restricted  from  punishing  them, 
since  they  are  not  the  acts  of  a  reasonable  being.  Had  the 
crime  been  committed  while  Drew  was  in  a  fit  of  intoxication 
he  would  have  been  liable  to  be  convicted  of  murder.  As  he 
was  not  then  intoxicated,  but  merely  insane  from  an  absti¬ 
nence  from  liquor,  he  cannot  be  pronounced  guilty  of  the 
offence.  The  law  looks  to  the  immediate,  and  not  to  the  re-, 
mote  cause,  to  the  actual  state  of  the  party,  and  not  to  the 
cause  which  produced  it.  Many  species  of  insanity  arise 
remotely  from  what,  in  a  moral  view,  is  a  criminal  neglect  or 
fault  of  the  party,  as  from  religious  melancholy,  undue  ex¬ 
posure,  extravagant  pride,  ambition,  &,c.  & c.  Yet  such  in¬ 
sanity  has  always  been  deemed  a  sufficient  excuse  for  any 
crime  done  under  its  influence.” 

The  jury  without  retiring  from  their  seats,  returned  a 
verdict  of  not  guilty. 


MUTINY  ON  BOARD  THE  SHIP  GLOBE. 

The  ship  Globe  belonged  to  Nantucket  and  sailed  from 
Edgarton  on  the  fifteenth  of  December  eighteen  hundred  and 
twenty  two,  on  a  whaling  voyage  to  the  Pacific  Ocean.  She 
was  commanded  by  Mr.  Thomas  Worth.  The  names  of  the 
other  officers  were  as  follows:  William  Beetle,  first  mate, 
John  Lumbard,  second  mate,  and  Nathaniel  Fisher  third  mate. 
The  others  of  her  crew  were  Samuel  B.’  Comstock,  Stephen 
Kidder,  Gilbert  Smith,  Peter  Kidder,  Columbus  Worth, 
Rowland  Jones,  John  Cleveland,  Constant  Lewis,  Holden 
Henman,  Jeremiah  Ingham,  Joseph  Prass,  Rowland  Coffin, 
George  Comstock,  brother  of  Samuel,  Cyrus  M.  Hussey,  and 
William  Lay.  We  are  thus  particular  in  recording  their 
names  because  we  shall  have  something  to  say  of  each. 

Shortly  after  leaving  port,  Samuel  B.  Comstock  scuffled  with 
Mr.  Fisher,  the  third  mate,  who  proved  much  too  strong  for 
him.  Comstock,  finding  himself  worsted,  lost  his  temper  and 
struck  the  mate,  who  thereupon  seized  and  threw  him  very 


234 


THE  SHIP  GLOBE. 


roughly  upon  the  deck.  This  quarrel  led  to  a  result  unhappy 
for  both. 

The  ship  reached  the  Sandwich  Islands  in  the  following 
May,  and  obtained  supplies  at  Oahu.  Here  six  of  the  crew 
deserted,  and  five  atrocious  villains  were  shipped  in  their 
places.  They  were  Silas  Payne,  John  Oliver,  Anthony 
-Hanson  a  native  of  Oahu,  William  Humphries  a  black,  and 
Thomas  Lilliston.  After  this  the  vessel  sailed  to  the  coast  of 
Japan,  where  some  of  the  crew  began  to  grumble  because 
their  allowance  of  meat  was  not,  in  their  estimation,  always 
sufficient.  There  wTas  no  just  cause  of  complaint  beside  this. 
The  me*n  wrere  never  abused  by  the  officers,  or  treated  with 
farther  severity  than  was  necessary  for  the  maintenance  of 
discipline.  These  remarks  do  not,  however,  apply  to  the 
wretches  shipped  at  Oahu,  who  received  frequent  reprimands, 
and  on  one  occasion  one  of  them  was  severely  whipped. 
Nevertheless,  some  of  the  crew  resolved  to  leave  the  ship  in 
case  she  should  touch  at  Fanning’s  Island,  but  this  determina¬ 
tion  was  superseded  by  another  more  desperate  and  bloody. 

In  the  whaling  ships  of  the  Pacific  the  master  and  the  first 
and  second  mates  stand  no  watch  unless  there  is  blubber  to 
be  boiled.  The  boat  steerers  and  their  respective  boat’s 
crews  divide  the  watches.  Some  whale  ships  have  six  boats, 
but  the  Globe  had  but  three,  and  consequently  but  three 
watches  were  set  on  board.  This  explanation  is  necessary 
to  explain  what  happened  after  the  Globe  left  the  coast  of 
Japan,  near  the  Sandwich  Islands.  She  was  cruising  for 
whales  in  company  with  the  ship  Lyra;  and  the  masters  had 
agreed  to  set  a  light  at  night  as  a  signal  for  tacking,  in  order 
that  the  vessels  might  not  part  company.  On  the  night  when 
the  terrible  event  wTe  are  about  to  relate  took  place,  Gilbert 
Smith,  a  boat  steerer,  had  the  first  watch.  He  was  relieved  by 
Samuel  B.  Comstock,  also  a  boat  steerer,  and  the  first  watch 
retired  to  their  births.  George  Comstock  took  the  helm. 
When  his  time  was  out  he  announced  the  fact  with  a  rattle,  an 
instrument  used  on  board  whale  ships  for  that  express  purpose. 
While,  thus  employed  his  brother  came  to  him  and  peremp¬ 
torily  commanded  him  to  desist,  threatening  to  slay  nim  if  he 
made  the  least  noise,  after  which  he  went  into  the  steerage 
with  a  lighted  lamp.  Alarmed  at  this  conduct  George  was 
about  to  sound  his  rattle  again,  but  Samuel  arrived  in  time  to 
prevent  him,  and  so  awed  him  by  his  threats  that  he  dared  not 
stir.  Samuel  Comstock  then  laid  a  large,  sharp,  two  edged 
whaling  knife  on  a  bench  near  the  companion  way,  and  went 


THE  SHIP  GLOBE. 


235 


to  summon  his  fellow  conspirators.  He  came  back  with 
Payne,  Oliver,  Humphries  and  Lilliston.  The  latter  „came 
no  farther  than  the  companion  ladder,  and  then  went  forward 
again  to  his  birth.  According  to  his  own  account  he  only 
went  so  far  to  show  himself  as  courageous  as  the  rest,  and 
retired  because  he  did  not  believe  they  would  carry  their 
designs  into  effect.  The  rest  went  into  the  cabin  with 
Comstock.  The  captain  was  asleep  in  his  hammock,  when 
Comstock  struck  him  a  blow  with  an  axe  which  nearly  severed 
his  head  in  two.  The  stroke  was  distinctly  heard  by  the  man 
at  the  helm.  After  repeating  the  blow  he  joined  Payne,  who 
was  stationed  ready  to  attack  the  first  mate  as  soon  as  he  should 
awake,  armed  with  the  whaling  knife  before  mentioned.  Payne 
awoke  him  with  a  thrust.  “  0  Payne!”  he  exclaimed,  “  O 
Comstock !  is  this — Don’t  kill  me — don’t.  Have  I  not  always  ?” 
— “  Yes,”  cried  Comstock,  “you  have  always  been  a  d — d 
rascal.  You’ll  tell  lies  of  me  out  of  the  ship  will  you?  It’s 
a  good  time  to  beg  now,  but  too  late.”  He  accompanied  these 
words  with  oaths  and  blasphemies  which  we  do  not  care  to 
repeat.  Mr.  Beetle  finding  all  expostulation  vain,  sprung  at 
him  and  caught  him  by  the  throat.  The  light  was  struck  out 
in  the  scuffle  and  the  axe  fell  from  Comstock’s  hand.  Payne 
felt  for  the  weapon  on  the  floor  and  put  it  into  the  hand  of 
the  murderer,  who  managed  to  free  his  right  arm  and  struck 
Mr.  Beetle  a  blow  that  fractured  his  skull  and  beat  him  to 
the  floor.  By  this  time  Humphries  had  brought  a  lamp  and 
by  its  light  Comstock  and  Oliver  mangled  the  yet  groaning 
mate.  In  the  meanwhile  the  second  and  third  mates  were 
lying  in  their  respective  state  rooms,  the  doors  of  which  had 
been  fastened  by  the  mutineers. 

The  light  was  again  accidentally  extinguished  and  Comstock, 
after  posting  a  guard  at  the  second  mate’s  door  went  to  the 
binacle  to  light  it.  His  brother,  who  still  remained  at  the 
helm,  there  asked  him  if  he  intended  to  kill  Smith,  the  other 
boat  steerer.  The  mutineer  replied  in  the  affirmative  and 
asked  where  Smith  was.  George  answered  in  tears,  that  he 
had  not  seen  him,  whereupon  Samuel  asked  why  he  was 
weeping.  “  I  am  afraid,”  said  George,  “  that  they  will  hurt 
me !”  “  I  will  hurt  you,”  his  brother  replied,  “  if  you  talk  so.” 

He  then  returned  to  the  cabin  to  complete  his  bloody  work. 

He  began  by  firing  a  musket  bullet  through  the  door  of 
one  of  the  state  rooms,  as  nearly  as  he  could  judge  in  the 
direction  of  the  officers.  He  then  called  to  know  if  either 
was  hit.  Fisher  replied  that  he  was  shot  in  the  mouth.  The 


236 


THE  SHIP  GLOBE. 


conspirators  then  opened  the  door  and  entered,  Comstock 
foremost.  The  officers  seized  him,  and  Mr.  Fisher  took  the 
gun  out  of  his  hands  and  presented  the  bayonet  to  his  breast. 
Had  he  plunged  the  weapon  in  his  heart  it  had  been  better, 
but  on  being  assured  his  life  should  be  spared  if  he  would 
submit,  he  gave  it  up.  Comstock  took  it,  and  deliberately 
ran  Mr.  Lumbar d  through  the  body  several  times.  He  then 
told  Mr.  Fisher  there  was  no  hope  for  him.  “  You  must  die,” 
he  said,  “  Remember  the  scrape  you  got  me  into.”  Finding 
his  case  indeed  hopeless  Mr.  Fisher  said  he  would  at  least  die 
like  a  man.  Comstock  bade  him  turn  his  back  to  him,  which  he 
did,  and  firmly  said,  “  I  am  ready.”  The  mutineer  put  the 
muzzle  of  the  gun  in  contact  with  his  head  and  fired. 

In  the  meanwhile  Mr.  Lumbard,  though  mortally  wounded 
was  begging  for  life.  Having  despatched  Mr.  Fisher,  Com¬ 
stock  said  to  him,  “  I  am  a  bloody  man:  I  have  a  bloody  hand, 
and  I  will  be  revenged.”  With  that  he  gave  him  another  stab. 
The  wounded  man  begged  for  water.  u  I’ll  give  you  water,” 
replied  the  savage,  and  with  one  more  thrust  left  him  sense¬ 
less. 

The  conspirators  then  went  on  deck,  and  Comstock  called 
for  Smith  the  other  boat  steerer.  He  came  forward,  resolved 
either  to  save  his  life  by  supplication  or  sell  it  dearly.  On 
meeting,  the  murderer  threw  his  bloody  arms  round  his  neck 
and  asked  if  he  would  not  be  one  of  his  crew.  Smith  replied 
that  he  would  be  obedient  in  all  things.  All  hands  were  then 
called  to  make  sail,  and  a  light  was  set  for  the  Lyra  to  tack 
while  the  Globe  kept  on  her  course,  by  which  means  the  ships 
parted  company. 

The  master’s  body  was  next  shockingly  mutilated  by  the 
mutineers,  and  then  committed  to  the  deep.  This  done,  Corn- 
stock  ordered  the  bodies  of  the  mates  to  be  brought  up. 
Beetle  was  not  quite  dead,  but  they  threw  him  overboard 
notwithstanding.  Fisher  was  next  dragged  up  by  a  rope  fas¬ 
tened  round  his  neck.  Lumbard  was  drawn  up  by  the  feet, 
and,  strange  to  relate,  he  had  strength  enough  to  lay  hold  of 
the  plank  sheer  as  they  were  putting  him  into  the  sea.  In 
this  posture  he  reminded  Comstock  of  his  promise  to  spare  his 
life,  but  the  monster  forced  him  to  quit  his  hold  and  he  fell 
into  the  water.  As  he  appeared  able  to  swim  Comstock  or¬ 
dered  a  boat  out  to  despatch  him  lest  he  should  be  picked  up 
by  the  Lyra,  but  countermanded  the  order  before  the  crew 
had  time  to  obey.  They  then  shaped  their  course  for  the 
Mulgrave  Islands.  While  on  the  passage  thither  they  effaced 


THE  SHIP  GLOBE. 


237 


all  the  marks  of  murder,  and  appointed  officers.  Comstock 
was  captain,  Payne  mate,  the  black,  Humphries,  was  called 
purser,  and  George  Comstock  was  appointed  steward  in  his 
place.  Five  days  after  the  mutiny  the  new  steward  saw  his 
predecessor  loading  a  pistol  in  the  cabin.  On  being  asked 
what  he  was  about,  the  black  replied  that  he  had  heard  some¬ 
thing  very  strange  and  would  be  ready  to  meet  what  was  to 
follow. 

George  immediately  informed  his  brother  what  he  had 
seen  and  heard,  and  the  elder  mutineer  went  to  the  cabin  with 
Payne  and  asked  the  black  what  he  intended  to  do  with  the 
pistol.  The  negro  said  he  had  heard  something  that  had  put 
him  in  fear  for  his  life.  To  this  Comstock  answered  that  if 
Humphries  had  heard  anything  of  the  kind  it  was  his  duty 
to  have  come  to  him  with  a  complaint  instead  of  loading 
pistols.  He  then  demanded  to  know  what  the  soi  disant  pur¬ 
ser  had  heard.  His  replies  were  vague  and  unsatisfactory, 
but  the  substance  of  them  was  that  Peter  Kidder  and  Gilbert 
Smith  the  boat  steerer  intended  to  retake  the  vessel.  Com¬ 
stock  then  convened  a  council  of  war  at  which  he  presided 
himself,  and  summoned  the  accused  before  him.  They  utterly  ' 
denied  the  intention  imputed  to  them.  The  next  morning 
Comstock  appointed  two  men  to  act  as  a  jury,  and  Humphries 
was  brought  before  them  in  chains.  Smith  and  Kidder  were 
summoned  as  witnesses.  The  trial  began  with  some  questions 
put  to  the  unfortunate  negro  by  Comstock  which  his  confusion 
and  terror  prevented  him  from  answering  distinctly.  At  this 
stage  of  the  proceedings  Comstock  rose  and  made  a  speech. 
u  It  appears,”  said  the  barbarous  and  ignorant  wretch,  “  that 
William  Humphries  has  been  accused  guilty  of  a  treacherous 
and  base  act,  in  loading  a  pistol  for  the  purpose  of  shooting 
Mr.  Payne  and  myself.  Having  been  tried  the  jury  will  now 
give  in  their  verdict,  whether  guilty  or  not  guilty.  If  guilty, 
he  shall  be  hanged  to  a  studdingsail  boom  rigged  out  eight 
feet  upon  the  foreyard,  but  if  found  not  guilty  Smith  and 
Kidder  shall  be  hung  upon  the  aforementioned  gallows.  ” 

This  morsel  of  logic  left  no  doubt  in  the  minds  of  the  jury 
of  the  guilt  of  the  prisoner,  and  they  found  him  guilty.  That 
sentence  and  punishment  might  be  consistent  with  each  other, 
preparations  were  instantly  made  for  his  death.  His  watch 
was  taken  from  him  and  he  was  forced  forward.  Comstock 
then  compelled  him  to  seat  himself  on  the  vessel’s  gunwale; 
the  rope,  reeved  to  the  end  of  the  studdingsail  boom,  wta 
fastened  round  his  neck,  and  a  cap  was  drawn  over  his  face 

11* 


238 


THE  SHIP  GLOBE. 


The  whole  crew  was  ordered  to  take  hold  of  the  rope,  while 
■Comstock  stood  ready  to  ring  the  ship’s  bell  as  a  signal  to  run 
him  up.  He  was  then  told  that  he  had  but  fourteen  seconds  to 
live,  and  asked  if  he  had  anything  to  say  for  himself.  He 
began,  “  Little  did  I  think  I  was  born  to  come  to  this.”  The 
bell  struck,  he  was  instantly  at  the  yard  arm,  and  died  without 
a  struggle.  After  he  had  hung  a  few  minutes  the  rope  was 
cut  to  let  him  fall  overboard,  but  became  entangled,  and  the 
body  was  towed  some  distance  alongside.  A  weight  was  then 
attached  to  it  and  it  sunk.  Thus  died  one  of  the  mutineers 
while  the  blood  of  his  murdered  officers  was  scarcely  dry  upon 
his  hands. 

Two  days  after  the  session  of  this  notable  court  of  justice 
the  Globe  passed  the  King’s  Mill  Islands,  near  Marshall’s 
Island.  A  boat  was  despatched  to  the  shore,  but  did  not  land, 
as  the  natives  appeared  hostile.  Some  of  them  came  off  toward 
the  boat  in  a  canoe,  but  taking  a  sudden  fright  paddled  back 
again.  Just  as  they  turned  the  boat’s  crew  fired  a  volley  and 
killed  or  wounded  several.  The  white  savages  then  gave 
chase  to  a  canoe  in  which  were  two  of  the  islanders,  on  whom 
they  fired  as  soon  as  they  came  within  gunshot.  On  approach¬ 
ing  more  nearly  it  was  seen  that  one  of  the  natives  was 
wounded.  In  an  agony  of  fear  they  held  up  their  garments 
and  some  beads,  giving  their  inhuman  pursuers  to  understand 
by  signs  that  they  would  give  all  for  their  lives.  The  boat 
returned  on  board  without  doing  them  any  farther  injury. 

Three  days  after  this  wanton  and  unnecessary  act  of 
cruelty  the  vessel  made  the  Mulgrave  Islands.  Comstock 
sent  a  boat  on  shore  which  returned  with  some  of  the  native 
women,  some  cocoa  nuts  and  fish.  The  next  day  the  muti¬ 
neers  looked  about  for  some  spot  fit  for  cultivation,  and  at  last 
came  to  a  low  narrow  island  where  they  determined  to  anchor 
the  ship.  On  the  fifteenth  of  February,  four  days  after  their 
arrival,  all  hands  were  set  to  work  to  construct  a  raft  of  the 
spare  spars  on  which  the  provisions  etc.  might  be  conveyed 
on  shore.  Comstock’s  statistic  talents  now  produced  a  penal 
code,  by  which  the  conduct  of  his  subjects  should  be  regulated. 
The  penalty  for  one  offence  was  as  follows. 

If  any  one  saw  a  sail  in  the  offing  and  did  not  report  it 
instantly  he  was  to  be  bound  hand  and  foot,  put  into  the  ship’s 
caldron,  and  boiled  in  oil! 

Every  man  was  obliged  to  sign  and  seal  the  instrument  of 
which  this  was  a  part.  The  mutineers  sealed  with  black  seals 
and  the  rest  with  blue  and  white  ones. 


THE  SHIP  GLOBE. 


239 


The  raft  being  completed  it  was  anchored  with  one  end  rest¬ 
ing  on  the  rocks,  while  the  other  was  kept  seaward  by  an  anchor. 
A  good  part  of  the  provisions  were  sent  on  shore,  as  well  as 
most  of  the  ship’s  sails.  While  this  was  going  on  Comstock 
was  on  shore,  while  Payne,  the  second  in  command,  remained 
on  board,  to  attend  to  discharging  the  lading.  Comstock,  it 
seems,  was  much  elated  at  the  acquisition  of  so  much  property, 
for  he  gave  the  natives  the  officers’  clothing  and  other  articles. 
Payne  took  umbrage  at  this  and  sent  him  word  that  if  he  did 
not  change  his  conduct  he  would  do  no  more,  but  would  leave 
the  ship.  Comstock  was  much  irritated  at  this  message,  and 
sent  for  him.  An  altercation  ensued,  and  Comstock  said  u  I 
helped  to  take  the  ship  and  have  navigated  her  to  this  place 
I  have  done  all  I  could  to  get  the  sails  and  rigging  on  shore, 
and  now  you  may  do  what  you  please  with  her.  But  if  any 
man  wants  anything  of  me,  I’ll  take  a  musket  with  him.” 
“  That,”  replied  Payne,  “  is  what  I  want.  I  am  ready.”  This 
reply  cooled  Comstock’s  courage  and  he  ended  the  debate  by 
saying  he  would  go  on  board  the  vessel  once  more,  and  after 
that  Payne  might  do  as  he  pleased  with  her.  Accordingly  he 
went  on  board,  abused  the  crew  and  challenged  them  to  fight 
with  him.  He  destroyed  the  paper  on  which  he  had  recorded 
his  laws  and  possessed  himself  of  a  sword,  which  he  said  he 
would  keep  by  him  as  long  as  he  lived.  Then,  as  he  left  the 
ship,  he  bade  those  on  board  look  to  themselves,  as  he  was 
going  to  leave  them. 

He  then  left  his  companions,  and  joined  a  party  of  the 
natives  whom  he  endeavoured  to  persuade  to  destroy  Payne 
and  the  rest.  Before  dark  he  passed  their  tents  with  fifty  of 
the  savages  which  made  Payne  believe  he  meditated  some 
mischief.  Payne,  therefore,  posted  sentinels,  with  orders  to 
shoot  any  who  should  attempt  to  pass  without  giving  the 
countersign.  However,  the  night  passed  without  any  dis¬ 
turbance. 

In  the  morning  Comstock  was  seen  coming  toward  the  tents 
and  Payne  proposed  to  Smith  to  shoot  him.  As  he,  and  those 
who  had  not  been  concerned  in  the  mutiny  refused  to  take 
any  part  in  the  business,  Payne  and  the  other  mutineers 
loaded  their  muskets,  and  stood  in  front  of  the  tents  to  await 
his  arrival.  He  advanced  with  a  drawn  sword  in  his  hand  in 
a  menacing  fashion,  but  when  he  saw  their  muskets  levelled 
he  cried  to  them  not  to  shoot  him  for  he  would  not  hurt  them. 
Nevertheless  they  fred  and  killed  him  on  the  spot.  Two 
balls  struck  him,  one  in  the  breast  and  the  other  in  the  head 


240 


THE  SHIP  GLOBE. 


t 

Fearing  that  he  would  rise  again,  Payne  ran  to  him  with  an  axe 
and  almost  severed  his  head  from  his  body.  So  died,  by  the 
hands  of  his  own  instruments,  the  wretch  who  conceived  and 
carried  into  effect  the  most  abominable  mutiny  that  has  come 
to  our  knowledge.  His  former  followers  buried  him  as  well 
as  they  were  able.  They  sewed  his  body  in  a  shroud  of 
canvass,  and  dug  a  grave  in  the  sand,  into  which  they  put 
with  his  body  every  article  that  had  belonged  to  him,  except¬ 
ing  his  watch.  The  funeral  ceremonies  concluded  with  read¬ 
ing  a  chapter  in  the  Bible  and  firing  a  musket  over  him. 

In  the  afternoon  Payne  sent  Smith  on  board  with  six  men 
to  take  care  of  the  ship.  This  man  had  plotted  to  carry  her 
off,  and  this  order  afforded  him  a  fair  opportunity.  In  the 
evening,  he  furnished  his  men  with  weapons  to  keep  the  muti¬ 
neers  off  in  case  they  should  attempt  to  board,  and  cleared 
the  running  rigging.  A  handsaw  was  greased  and  laid  by 
the  windlass  to  saw  off  the  cable,  and  a  hatchet  was  placed  by 
the  mizzen  mast  to  cut  the  stern  fast.  Smith  then  took  one 
man  with  him  upon  the  fore  topsail  yard,  loosed  the  sail  and 
shook  out  the  reefs,  while  two  others  were  loosing  the  main 
and  maintop  sails.  This  they  did  with  the  greatest  possible 
celerity,  fearing  that  the  mutineers  would  come  off  and  put 
them  all  to  death.  When  the  sails  were  all  ready  Smith  de¬ 
scended,  took  the  handsaw  and  sawed  off  the  cable.  The 
ship’s  head  fell  away  from  the  land  and  a  favorable  breeze 
instantly  filled  the  canvass.  The  stern  fast  was  then  cut  and 
the  Globe  departed  from  the  Mulgrave  Islands  forever.  We 
will  follow  her  for  awhile  before  we  return  to  those,  left  on 
shore. 

After  a  long  and  stormy  voyage  she  reached  Valparaiso, 
where  the  American  consul  took  possession  of  her  and  sent 
her  scanty  crew  on  board  a  French  frigate,  in  irons.  They 
were  shortly  after  examined  and  gave  the  same  account  of 
the  mutiny  and  subsequent  proceedings  that  we  have  related 
above.  They  all  agreed  that  Joseph  Thomas,  who  had  come 
with  them  to  Valparaiso,  was  privy  to  the  mutiny.  The  ship 
was  then  new  rigged  and  sailed  under  the  command  of  a  Mr. 
King  who  brought  her  safe  to  Nantucket,  where  Thomas  was 
committed  to  jail  to  await  his  trial. 

W e  will  now  return  to  the  Mulgrave  Islands .  While  Smith 
was  preparing  for  escape  Payne  set  a  watch  to  guard  against 
the  natives,  and  the  crew  lay  down  and  slept.  Suddenly  they 
were  awakened  by  the  cry,  “  The  ship  has  gone!  The  ship 
has  gone!”  They  hastened  to  the  beach  and  found  that  the 


THE  SHIP  GLOBE. 


241 


news  was  true.  When  morning  came  nothing  was  to  be  seen 
of  her.  Payne  vented  his  rage  in  execrations,  but  finally  re¬ 
covered  his  temper,  and  set  about  building  a  boat.  He  told 
the  natives,  indeed,  that  the  wind  had  forced  the  ship  to  sea  and 
that  she  would  never  return,  but  in  reality  he  feared  that  she 
would  reach  some  port,  whence  his  own  punishment  would 
soon  come. 

The  natives  were  about  them  in  great  numbers  eyeing  their 
proceedings  with  no  little  curiosity.  Up  to  this  time  their 
deportment  had  been  friendly:  they  gave  the  whites  bread 
fruit,  fish,  cocoanuts;  in  short,  everything  they  had,  and  re¬ 
ceived  in  return  tools,  pieces  of  iron  and  such  other  articles 
as  could  conveniently  be  spared. 

The  small  islands  which  compose  the  Mulgrave  group  are 
in  many  instances  separated  from  each  other  by  reefs  of  coral 
extending  from  the  extreme  point  of  one  to  another.  These 
reefs  are  nearly  dry  at  low  water,  and  the  inhabitants  pass  from 
one  island  to  another  on  foot.  This  fact  was  discovered  on 
the  twentieth  of  the  month  by  a  party  of  the  whites  who 
crossed  over  to  the  next  island.  After  following  the  tracks  of 
the  savages  seven  miles  they  came  to  a  village  where  they 
were  hospitably  received.  The  natives  presented  them  with 
bread  fruit  and  cocoa  nut  milk;  and  the  wonder  of  those  who 
had  not  yet  seen  a  white  man  was  excessive.  The  women 
and  children  expressed  their  astonishment  by  uncouth  grim¬ 
aces  and  boisterous  laughter,  dancing  and  shouting  for  joy. 
What  surprised  them  most  was  the  color  of  the  skins  of  their 
visiters.  At  last  the  whites  left  them  and  returned  to  their 
tents. 

The  next  day  another  party  went  to  the  village,  carrying 
with  them  firearms,  the  use  of  which  they  demonstrated. 
The  natives  were  struck  dumb  with  wonder  at  the  reports  of 
the  guns  and  the  effect  of  the  bullets.  Yet  though  thus  con¬ 
vinced  of  the  power  of  the  whites  they  continued  to  visit  the 
tents  on  the  most  amicable  terms.  The  mariners,  too,  lived 
without  fear;  placing  the  utmost  confidence  in  them. 

Payne  and  Oliver  took  one  of  the  boats  and  set  out  to  ex¬ 
plore  the  group.  The  next  day  they  returned,  bringing  with 
them  two  young  women,  whom  they  took  to  wife.  These 
females  at  first  showed  no  dissatisfaction.  The  mutineers  now 
abandoned  all  distrust  and  no  longer  posted  a  guard,  and 
perhaps  had  matters  rested  there,  there  would  have  been  no 
need  of  any.  But  one  morning  Payne’s  wife  was  missing, 
at  which  he  was  greatly  enraged.  He,  Oliver  and  Lilliston, 


242 


THE  SHIT  GLOBE.  ' 


set  out  in  search  of  her,  armed  with  muskets.  They  reached 
the  village  in  the  night,  and  hid  themselves,  in  hopes  of  seeing 
the  absentee  in  the  morning.  When  day  broke  they  saw  that 
one  of  the  huts  w  as  thronged  with  the  natives,  and  the  woman 
they  sought  was  among  them.  One  of  the  whites  fired  a 
blank  cartridge,  and  they  all  showed  themselves  at  once.  The 
natives  were  frightened  and  fled,  but  Payne  followed  till  he 
came  up  with  the  one  he  sought  and  laid  hands  on  her.  He 
took  her  back  with  him  to  his  tent,  where  he  first  gave  her  a 
severe  whipping  and  then  put  her  in  irons.  This  treatment 
he  repeated  several  times,  till  the  savages  became  irritated, 
and  retaliated  by  theft  and  other  petty  vexations. 

One  morning  it  was  found  that  the  tool  chest  had  been  bro¬ 
ken  open  in  the  night,  and  that  some  of  the  tools  had  been 
taken  awTay.  This  put  Payne  in  an  outrageous  passion  and 
he  vowed  vengeance  on  the  thieves.  He  informed  several 
of  the  natives  of  his  loss,  and  made  them  comprehend  that 
something  terrible  would  happen  if  the  articles  were  not  re¬ 
stored.  The  savages  were  about  the  tent  all  day,  expressing 
their  concern,  and  at  night  one  of  them  brought  back  the  half 
of  a  chisel  that  had  been  broken.  Instead  of  thanking  him 
for  his  pains  Payne  put  him  in  irons,  and  told  him  that  he  must 
go  with  him  to  the  village  in  the  morning,  to  point  out  where 
the  rest  of  the  articles  might  be  found,  as  well  as  the  person 
who  had  stolen  them.  In  the  morning  he  armed  four  men 
and  gave  them  powder  and  small  shot.  He  refused  them 
balls,  because,  as  he  said,  the  mere  report  of  their  guns  would 
be  enough  to  frighten  the  savages  into  submission.  He  put 
the  prisoner  into  their  hands,  and  ordered  them  to  bring  the 
things  lost  and  the  thief  or  thieves. 

They  succeeded  in  getting  a  hatchet,  but  as  they  were  about 
to  return  the  natives  attacked  them  in  a  body,  with  stones. 
They  retreated,  and  the  savages  overtaking  the  hindmost, 
named  Jones,  killed  him  on  the  spot.  They  threw  their 
missiles  with  great  accuracy,  and  the  three  survivors  reached 
the  tents  with  great  difficulty,  bruised  and  bleeding.  They 
were  followed  by  the  enemy,  prepared  for  war.  No  time  was 
lost  in  arming,  and  the  motions  of  the  whites  were  none  the 
more  tardy  that  they  saw  the  islanders  collecting  from  all 
quarters.  The  enemy  stopped  a  short  distance  before  the 
tents,  and  appeared  to  hold  a  council.  After  some  deliberation 
they  began  to  tear  to  pieces  the  boat  Payne  had  been  build¬ 
ing,  than  which  nothing  could  have  grieved  the  mutineer 
more.  To  stay  their  proceedings  he  ventured  to  go  among 


THE  SHIP  GLOBE 


243 


them,  and  after  a  long  conference  he  returned  to  communi¬ 
cate  the  conditions  he  had  been  able  to  procure.  These 
were  as  follows. 

The  islanders  were  to  have  all  the  property  of  the  whites, 
even  their  tents,  and  the  latter  were  to  go  with  the  savages  to 
their  villages  and  live  among  them,  governed  by  their  customs. 
These  terms  were  enforced  by  menacing  gestures  and  the 
brandishing  of  clubs  and  spears. 

After  this  treaty  the  islanders  began  the  pillage,  and  pulled 
the  tents  down.  This  done  they  fell  upon  their  prisoners 
with  the  utmost  fury.  Two  only  escaped  with  life:  William 
Lay,  and  Cyrus  Hussey.  The  former  had  been  withdrawn 
from  the  tents  before  the  fray,  by  an  old  man  and  his  wife,  who 
now  covered  his  body  with  their  own,  to  protect  him  from  the 
rest.  Hussey  was  saved  in  nearly  the  same  manner. 

These  two  men  remained  among  the  Mulgrave  Islands  some 
months,  living  with  the  natives,  wearing  their  dress  and  speak 
ing  their  language.  After  the  first  ebullition  of  their  rage 
had  subsided  the  natives  treated  them  well,  though  they  were 
always  suspicious  of  some  injury  to  be  done  by  them.  At 
last,  on  the  twenty-third  of  December,  eighteen  hundred  and 
twenty-five,  a  vessel  hove  in  sight,  to  the  alarm  and  confusion 
of  the  islanders.  After  mature  deliberation  they  agreed 
to  swim  on  board  one  by  one,  and  when  two  hundred  should 
have  gained  the  deck  to  assail  and  massacre  the  crew.  But 
the  sight  of  the  cannon  and  the  arguments  of  their  prisoners 
induced  them  to  forego  their  design.  The  vessel  proved  to  be 
the  United  States’  schooner  Dolphin,  which  had  been  sent  in 
quest  of  the  mutineers.  Lay  and  Hussey  were  soon  released, 
and  the  Dolphin  left  the  Mulgraves. 

An  account  of  these  islands,  and  of  the  adventures  of  the 
prisoners  would  no  doubt  be  interesting,  but  as  these  matters  do 
not  fall  within  the  scope  of  our  plan  we  refer  our  reader  to  a 
little  book  written  by  Lay  and  Hussey. 

We  have  no  means  to  ascertain  what  became  of  Joseph 
Thomas,  the  only  surviving  mutineer  of  the  Globe.  Our  impres¬ 
sion  is  that  he  was  tried  and  acquitted  for  want  of  evidence. 

These  unhappy  adventures  have  been  commemorated  by  ah 
American  poet  whose  name  we  do  not  remember.  We  believe, 
however,  he  may  frequently  be  seen  in  Washington  street. 
The  last  four  lines  of  his  poem  must  conclude  our  article. 

“  Let  this  example  a  warning  be 
To  all  young  men  as  follow  the  sea; 

Let  your  correction  be  ever  so  severe 
Stick  to  your  duty  and  don’t  mutineer  ” 


% 


244 


JAMES  PORTER. 


JAMES  PORTER 

Was  an  Irishman,  and  a  weaver  by  trade.  He  had  been  a 
robber  in  his  own  country .  We  know  not  what  events  induced 
him  to  seek  a  refuge  in  America,  or  what  were  his  first  adven¬ 
tures  on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic.  We  first  find  him  in  Phil¬ 
adelphia,  ostensib  y  working  at  his  trade,  but  in  reality  gaining 
his  livelihood  by  dishonest  practices.  He  had  two  accom¬ 
plices,  George  Wilson  and  Abraham  Poteet,  weavers,  who  had 
learned  their  trade  in  the  penitentiary.  The  former  was  but 
twenty-three  years  of  age,  yet  though  his  days  were  few  his 
iniquities  were  many.  Poteet  had  been  convicted  at  the  Bal¬ 
timore  City  Court  of  stealing  four  handkerchiefs,  for  which  he 
was  sentenced  to  five  years  imprisonment.  For  a  second 
theft  he  was  sentenced  to  imprisonment.  He  had  also  been 
convicted  of  breaking  prison,  of  attempting  a  stage  robbery 
and  wounding  the  driver,  and  of  shooting  at  the  keeper  of  the 
Baltimore  penitentiary.  He  was  a  native  of  Baltimore,  and 
Wilson  also  was  an  American.  They  became  acquainted  in 
the  penitentiary,  and  were  jointly  concerned  in  the  attempt  to 
break  out,  in  which  the  life  of  the  keeper  was  endangered. 
Such  were  James  Porter  and  his  associates. 

Porter  and  Poteet  became  tired  of  stealing  wee  things ,  for 
so  silver  spoons  were  denominated  by  Porter,  and  resolved  to 
rob  the  Reading  mail,  in  order  to  make  their  fortune  at  once. 
To  prepare  for  this  exploit  Porter  and  Wilson  crossed  the 
Schuylkill  on  the  twentieth  of  November  eighteen  hundred 
and  twenty-nine,  and  broke  into  the  shop  of  Mr.  Watt,  a  gun¬ 
smith.  They  took  thence  five  pistols  and  two  powder  flasks: 
After  this  the  three  companions  repeatedly  practised  with 
their  pistols  to  ascertain  their  qualities. 

On  the  sixth  of  December  the  mail  stage  started  from 
Philadelphia  at  two  in  the  morning  driven  by  one  Samuel 
M’  Crea.  There  were  nine  passengers  inside  and  another 
on  the'box  with  the  driver.  The  night  was  dark  and  cloudy. 
When  the  stage  had  got  two  miles  from  the  city  and  was  near¬ 
ly  opposite  Turner’s  Line,  Porter  started  from  the  road  side, 
took  the  off  leading  hoise  by  the  head  and  turned  him  round. 
At  the  same  time  Wilson  and  Poteet  came  up,  one  on  each 
side  of  the  coacl ,  with  presented  pistols,  bidding  the  driver 


JAMES  PORTER. 


245 


stop,  “  or  they  would  blow  his  d — d  guts  out.”  He  struck 
the  horses  with  his  whip,  but  could  not  make  them  go  forward. 
Poteet  then  ordered  the  driver  and  the  passenger  who  sat 
beside  him  to  come  down.  The  driver  obeyed  and  the  pas¬ 
senger  was  about  descending,  when  Porter  swore  at  his  com¬ 
rades  for  not  putting  out  the  lamps.  Poteet  put  out  the  lamp 
on  his  side  with  the  butt  of  his  pistol:  Wilson  merely  broke 
the  glass  of  the  lamp  next  him.  Porter  then  left  the  horses’ 
heads,  ran  up  and  dashed  the  light  out  with  his  pistol.  He 
asked  the  passenger  if  he  had  any  weapons,  and  being  answer¬ 
ed  in  the  negaiive,  took  his  handkerchief  and  tied  his  hands 
with  it.  The  robbers  then  rifled  the  passenger  and  bound  the 
driver.  Poteet  asked  the  driver  if  he  did  not  think  this  a 
very  rough  introduction.  He  answered  that  it  was.  The  rob¬ 
ber  then  asked  him  if  he  got  his  living  by  stage  driving,  and 
he  replied  that  he  did  and  “  it  was  a  hard  way  too.”  “  Well,” 
said  the  ruffian,  “  this  is  the  way  we  get  our  living,  and  ’tis  very 
hard  with  us  sometimes.”  While  these  matters  were  going 
on  Poteet  and  Wilson  held  their  pistols  in  their  hands,  but 
Porter,  more  collected,  thrust  his  into  his  bosom. 

This  done,  Porter  and  Poteet  went  to  the  doors,  while  Wilson 
watched  the  two  bondmen.  Porter  told  the  passengers  they 
should  receive  no  injury  if  they  did  not  resist.  A  Mr.  Clarke 
proposed  to  attack  the  robbers,  but  was  overruled  by  the  rest 
of  the  passengers.  The  gentlemen  then  concealed  some  of 
their  valuables.  Porter  asked  if  any  of  them  were  armed, 
and  being  answered  in  the  negative,  answered  sneeringly 
“  that  it  was  a  pity.” 

The  thieves  next  compelled  the  true  men  to  alight,  one  by 
one.  Porter  searched  them,  and  tied  their  hands  with  their 
kerchiefs.  As  fast  as  he  tied  them  he  turned  them  over  to 
Poteet,  who  kept  them  quiet  with  his  pistol.  One  of  the  pas¬ 
sengers  after  being  tied  asked  the  robbers  for  a  quid  of  tobac¬ 
co,  which  was  readily  put  into  his  mouth  by  Poteet.  Anoth¬ 
er  was  very  reluctant  to  part  with  his  watch  which  he  said  had 
been  long  in  his  family,  and  at  his  urgent  entreaty  Poteet  re¬ 
stored  it.  From  another,  who  was  a  physician,  Porter  took 
the  seal  of  a  corporation  and  a  case  of  lancets,  but  put  them 
back  into  the  doctor’s  pockets  on  being  told  what  they  were. 
The  gentleman  then  asked  Poteet  for  half  a  dollar  to  pay  for 
his  breakfast,  and  the  robber  complied.  Another  of  the  pas¬ 
sengers  asked  Porter  to  restore  his  papers.  “  O,”  said  the 
tuffian,  “I  dare  say  all  this  business  will  be  published,  and 
then  I  shall  know  where  to  d'  rect  the  papers.  I  will  send 
you  a  letter.” 


246 


JAMES  PORTER. 


Mr.  Clarice  was  the  last  but  one  who  came  out  of  the  coach 
As  Porter  was  plundering  him  he  said  that  if  the  other  pas¬ 
sengers  had  followed  his  advice  they  would  not  have  been 
robbed.  “  Well  done,”  replied  the  robber,  “  I  like  to  see  a 
man  of  spunk.”  After  being  tied  Mr.  Clarke  walked  up  to 
Poteet  in  order  to  be  able  to  recognise  him,  if  they  should 
meet  again.  The  rogue  bade  him  stand  off*.  “  I  hope,”  said 
Mr.  Clarke,  u  you  are  not  afraid  of  a  small  man,  and  he  bound 
too.”  “No  sir,”  said  Poteet, “  but  I  don’t  want  to  be  better  ac¬ 
quainted  with  you.”  u  l  hope,”  rejoined  Mr.  Clarke,  “  that 
we  shall  have  a  longer  acquaintance  than  this  yet.”  “  I  hope 
not,  sir,”  said  Poteet.  On  Mr.  Clarke’s  again  observing  that 
the  passengers  would  have  done  better  to  resist,  Porter  re¬ 
marked  that  if  they  had,  they  would  have  seen  the  conse¬ 
quences. 

After  the  passengers  had  all  been  examined  the  robbers 
took  the  baggage  out  of  the  coach  and  from  before  and  be¬ 
hind  it.  They  then  tried  to  open  the  boot  in  which  the  mail 
bags  were  contained,  but  finding  some  difficulty  they  com¬ 
pelled  the  driver  to  do  it.  Mr.  Clarke  now  remarked  that 
another  stage  would  soon  be  along,  and  this  intelligence  quick¬ 
ened  their  proceedings.  One  of  them  busied  himself  in  rifling 
the  mails  and  trunks  while  the  other  two  put  the  passengers 
into  the  coach  again  without  untying  them.  They  tied  the 
driver  again  and  lifted  him  into  his  seat,  after  which  they  tied 
the  leading  horses  to  the  fence  by  the  road  side.  This  done 
the  robbers  went  off,  so  softly  that  neither  the  driver  nor  any 
of  the  passengers  were  aware  of  their  departure. 

The  gentlemen  sat  still  in  the  coach  some  minutes  after 
they  were  gone,  till  one  of  them  contrived  to  untie  himself, 
and  unbound  the  rest.  After  some  consultation  it  was  thought 
best  to  return  to  the  city.  When  they  arrived  at  the  post- 
office  a  person  was  despatched  to  the  scene  of  the  robbery, 
where  he  found  the  mail  bags  cut  open  and  the  packages  and 
newspapers  scattered  ai^und,  but  the  villains  had  carried  away 
the  letters. 

On  the  sixteenth  of  December  Wilson  carried  one  of  the 
watches  they  had  taken  to  Crosswel  Holmes,  a  pawnbroker, 
and  pledged  it  for  twenty  dollars.  He  said  he  was  a  carpen¬ 
ter  unable  to  get  employment,  and  was  therefore  obliged  to 
raise  money  on  his  watch.  He  agreed  to  repay  Mr.  Holmes 
in  —  days,  with  two  do 'ars  commission,  and  signed  the  obli¬ 
gation  John  James,  North  Second  street. 

On  the  twenty-first  Porter  carried  another  watch  (a  golden 


JAMES  PORTER. 


247 


one)  to  a  Mr.  Prentiss,  a  pawnbroker,  and  asked  sixty  dollars 
on  it.  Mr.  Prentiss  refused  to  advance  more  than  forty-five, 
*when  Porter  left  him,  saying  he  could  get  fifty  anywhere 
On  this  occasion  he  represented  himself  as  a  carpenter,  who 
wanted  money  to  repair  his  house.  The  next  day  Wilson 
called  on  Mr.  Prentiss  with  the  same  watch,  saying  the  gen¬ 
tleman  who  owned  it  had  made  up  his  mind  to  take  the  forty- 
five  dollars  offered,  and  that  he  would  act  as  his  agent.  Mr. 
Prentiss  gave  him  the  money,  and  wrote  a  receipt  which  Wil¬ 
son  signed  u  George  Brown,  for  John  Keys.” 

Nothing  occurred  to  direct  suspicion  to  either  of  our  rogues 
as  the  robbers  of  the  mail  till  the  middle  of  January,  when  a 
Mr.  Jeffers,  a  police  officer  of  Baltimore,  found  reason  to  be¬ 
lieve  that  Poteet  and  Wilson  were  the  persons  who  shot  at  the 
keeper  of  the  penitentiary  and  at  the  stage  driver  before 
mentioned.  He  sought  them  and  found  Wilson  first,  in  a 
tavern.  The  robber  drew  a  pistol  from  his  pocket  and  bade 
Mr.  Jeffers  stand  off,  but  the  latter  seized  him  by  the  wrist 
and  collar  and  held  him  till  the  landlord  came  into  the  room. 
The  landlord  took  the  pistol  from  Wilson  at  the  request  of 
Jeffers,  who  then  asked  the  culprit  for  the  other,  but  he  de¬ 
nied  having  any.  However,  after  the  police  officer  had  near¬ 
ly  strangled  him  he  gave  up  another.  Mr.  Jeffers  thrust  him 
into  a  chair  when  he  said  u  Let  me  up  and  I’ll  give  it  to  you.” 
With  the  landlord’s  assistance  Mr.  Jeffers  took  him  to  a  mag¬ 
istrate’s  office.  He  was  committed  to  prison. 

The  next  day  Mr.  Jeffers  visited  him  and  told  him  he  had 
heard  that  two  men  had  offered  to  pawn  a  gold  watch,  and  he 
believed  from  the  description  that  he  was  one  of  them.  At 
the  same  time  he  gave  Wilson  a  description  of  the  other  man. 
Wilson  replied  that  it  was  Porter,  and  but  for  him,  he,  Wil¬ 
son,  would  not  have  been  in  this  difficulty.  He  added  that 
Porter  had  a  better  right  to  suffer  than  himself,  and  he  would 
therefore  disclose  the  whole  matter.  His  story,  as  told  to 
Mr.  Jeffers,  was  as  follows. 

He  had  gone  out  three  several  times  with  Porter  to  rob  the 
Lancaster  mail,  but  his  heart  failing  him,  they  returned  with¬ 
out  effecting  their  purpose.  When  Porter  and  Poteet  pro¬ 
posed  to  him  to  rob  the  Reading  mail  he  would  have  had 
nothing  to  do  with  it  had  he  not  feared  that  Porter  would  kill 
him  if  he  refused.  He  then  described  the  robbery,  and  the 
part  each  had  taken  in  it,  pretty  much  as  we  have  related 
above.  While  the  pillage  was  going  on,  he  said,  he  was  very 
anxious  to  get  away,  but  Porter  declared  he  would  not  hur- 


248 


JAMES  PORTER. 


ry  himself.  He  added  that  he  was  sorry  he  had  ever  seen 
Porter.  He  was  steady  at  work  in  Philadelphia  till  he  came 
and  seduced  him  from  his  employment.  He  believed  Porter 
would  as  lief  kill  a  man  as  eat  his  breakfast.  All  this  con¬ 
fession  took  place  without  any  inducement  on  the  part  of 
Jeffers. 

This  confession  put  the  police  of  Baltimore  on  the  look 
out  foi  Porter  and  Poteet.  On  the  ninth  of  February  Mr. 
Stewait,  a  constable,  met  Porter  in  the  street,  and  accosted 
him  with  a  question  concerning  his  health.  He  added  that 
he  had  been  looking  for  him  all  day  and  must  now  take  him 
with  him.  Porter  asked  what  he  wanted,  and  on  what 
authority  he  arrested  him.  The  officer  replied  that  he  car¬ 
ried  his  authority  in  his  face,  and  then  asked  if  he  knew 
Wilson  or  Poteet,  or  could  tell  where  they  might  be  found. 
He  denied  all  knowledge  of  them  but  followed  Mr.  Stewart 
quietly  to  his  house.  The  officer  searched  him,  and  took 
from  him  a  powder  flask  and  a  pair  of  pistols.  Porter  ask¬ 
ed  if  he  meant  to  keep  them,  and  the  constable  replied 
that  he  did.  Porter  very  sternly  said,  “  I  hope  I  shall  live 
to  buy  another  pair  for  somebody.”  He  admitted  before  a 
magistrate  that  he  knew  Poteet. 

While  in  prison  at  Baltimore  Wilson  was  visited  by  Mr. 
Reeside,  the  mail  contractor.  Wilson  offered  to  tell  him  the 
whole  story,  but  Mr.  Reeside  told  him  expressly  that  if  he  did  ‘ 
it  must  be  without  fee  or  reward.  Wilson  said  that  as  he  had 
mentioned  the  matter  to  another  person  before,  he  had  no  ob¬ 
jection  to  repeat  it.  Porter,  he  stated,  had  said  to  him  that 
it  was  better  to  rob  the  mail  and  get  something  at  once  than  re¬ 
main  in  the  city  picking  up  silver  spoons  as  they  were  in  the 
habit  of  doing.  After  some  deliberation  he  replied  that  he 
would  not  engage  in  the  undertaking  unless  Poteet  would 
join  in  it.  At  first  Porter  objected  to  taking  in  a  third  part¬ 
ner,  but  finally  consented  that  Poteet  should  join  them.  They 
had  been  told  that  the  Lancaster  mail  was  a  very  valuable  one, 
and  went  out  three  times  to  rob  it.  But  his  heart  failed  him; 
he  did  not  wish  to  commit  robbery  or  murder,  and  told  Porter 
so.  The  third  time  they  went  to  attack  the  Lancaster  stage,  it 
was  full  of  passengers,  and  this  time  Porter  threatened  to  kill* 
him  if  he  flinched.  Through  fear  of  Porter  he  feigned  him¬ 
self  sick,  and  sat  down  by  the  road  side  and  said  he  could 
not  walk.  Porter  threatened  to  murder  him  if  he  ever  flinch¬ 
ed  again,  and  proposed  that  they  should  attempt  the  Kirnber- 
ton  mail,  saying  there  would  not  be  so  many  passengers  or  so 


JAMES  PORTER. 


249 


great  a  risk.  At  last  they  committed  the  robbery  we  have  re¬ 
lated,  and  when  they  had  finished  Porter  said  to  him,  “  George, 
the  six  o’clock  stage  is  coming  along.  We  may  as  well  give 
them  a  touch  as  not.”  On  his  refusal  Porter  got  into  a  vio¬ 
lent  passion  and  cursed  him  for  a  coward.  Alarmed  at  Por¬ 
ter’s  threats  Wilson  quickened  his  pace  toward  the  city,  the 
other  abusii  g  him  all  the  way. 

Mr.  Stewart  conducted  Wilson  to  Philadelphia  first,  and 
Porter  afterwards.  After  they  got  into  the  stage  Wilson  said 
that  he  believed  his  case  was  hopeless,  and  that  he  would 
plead  guilty  to  every  charge  brought  against  him.  Mr. 
Stewart  asked  if  he  were  not  afraid  to  undertake  to  rob  a 
stage  so  full  of  passengers.  u  No,”  replied  the  villain,  u  three 
good  men  could  rob  a  dozen  at  any  time.”  Mr.  Stewart  said 
he  supposed  they  had  made  good  provision  of  ropes  to  tie  the 
passengers,  but  Wilson  replied  that  they  had  not:  they  pre¬ 
sumed  each  passenger  had  a  handkerchief,  with  which  he  might 
be  tied.  Mr.  Stewart  asked  what  they  would  have  done  if 
the  passengers  had  resisted.  u  Why,”  said  Wilson,  “  if  they 
had  I  suppose  we  should  have  shot  two  or  three  of  them,  and 
that  would  have  damped  the  rest.”  As  they  came  toward 
Philadelphia,  Wilson  pointed  out  the  spot  where  he  and  his 
companions  had  robbed  the  Kimberton  mail,  and  afterwards 
the  shop  they  had  broken  open  to  procure  weapons. 

Poteet  was  also  arrested,  and  consented  to  save  his  own  life 
by  becoming  state’s  evidence. 

Porter’s  demeanor  after  his  arrest  was  marked  by  that  cool 
courage  that  seems  to  have  been  the  only  favorable  trait  in  his 
character.  He  spoke  freely  of  his  past  life,  without  showing 
the  least  compunction,  and  said  that  if  the  passengers  had  re¬ 
sisted  he  would  not' have  scrupled  to  shed  blood. 

On  the  twenty-sixth  of  April  eighteen  hundred  and  thirty, 
James  Porter  and.  George  Wilson  were  brought  before  the 
Circuit  Court,  and  the  grand  jury  presented  six  bills  of 
indictment  against  them. 

For  robbing  the  Kimberton  mail  and  putting  the  carrier 
thereof  in  jeopardy  of  his  life. 

For  robbing  the  Kimberton  mail. 

For  obstructing  the  Kimberton  mail. 

For  robbing  the  Reading  mail  and  putting  the  carrier  in 
jeopardy  of  his  life. 

For  robbing  the  Reading  mail. 

For  obstructing  the  Reading  mail. 

They  pleaded  not  guilty  to  all  these  indictments  and  applied 


I 


2 50  JAMES  PORTER.  * 

0  • 

for  separate  trials,  which  was  granted.  Wilson  was  first 
arraigned  on  the  fourth  indictment;  for  robbing  the  Reading 
mail  and  putting  the  carrier  in  jeopardy  of  his  life.  The  in¬ 
dictment  was  divided  into  three  counts. 

The  law  touching  this  offence  is,  u  That  if  any  person  shall 
rob  any  carrier  of  the  mail  of  the  United  States,  or  other 
person  entrusted  therewith,  of  such  mail,  or  of  part  thereof, 
such  offender  or  offenders  shall,  on  conviction,  be  imprison¬ 
ed  not  less  than  five  or  exceeding  ten  years;  and  if  convicted 
a  second  time  for  a  like  offence,  he  or  they  shall  suffer  death; 
or  if  in  effecting  such  robbery  of  the  mail  the  first  time  the 
offender  shall  wound  the  person  having  custody  thereof,  or 
put  his  life  in  jeopardy  by  the  use  of  dangerous  weapons, 
such  offender  or  offenders  shall  suffer  death.  And  if  any 
person  shall  attempt  to  rob  the  mail  of  the  United  States,  by 
assaulting  the  person  having  custody  thereof,  shooting  at  him, 
or  his  horse,  or  mule,  or  threatening  him  with  dangerous 
weapons,  and  the  robbery  is  not  effected,  every  such  offender 
on  conviction  thereof  shall  be  punished  by  imprisonment  not 
less  than  two  nor  exceeding  ten  years. ” 

On  the  trial  Wilson  was  identified  as  one  of  the  robbers, 
by  the  evidence  of  some  of  the  passengers  as  well  as  that  of 
Poteet.  The  watches  taken  from  the  passengers,  and  pawned 
by  him  were  produced  in  court  and  sworn  to.  So  were  the 
weapons  stolen  from  Mr.  Watt’s  shop.  The  other  facts  re¬ 
lating  to  the  robbery  were  proved,  in  substance,  as  we  have 
given  them. 

The  jury  found  a  verdict  of  Guilty. 

Porter  was  next  arraigned  and  found  guilty  on  the  same 
evidence.  Sentence  of  death  was  passed  upon  him  and 
Wilson.  After  sentence  Porter  showed  contrition,  but  suf¬ 
fered  with  the  same  hardihood  he  had  exhibited  throughout. 
We  can  accord  him  no  pity.  He  was  the  master  spirit,  the 
ringleader,  the  captain  of  a  band  of  highway  robbers.  He 
had  collected  a  gang  about  him,  drilled,  marshalled,  and 
equipped  them,  and  led  them  forth  to  an  unholy  warfare  against 
the  peace  and  interest  of  society. 

Wilson  was  pardoned  by  President  Jackson,  for  what 
reason  we  cannot  pretend  to  divine.  The  pardon  set  forth 
that  certain  disclosures  were  expected  from  him,  but  we  never 
heard  that  he  made  any.  A  great  many  of  the  citizens  of 
Philadelphia  were  much  irritated  at  this  partiality,  and  ex¬ 
pressed  their  resentment  in  a  rather  ludicrous  manner.  A 
tavernkeeper  in  the  city  had  lately  adorned  his  sign  post  with 


JAMES  PORTER. 


251 


an  effigy  of  the  reforming  president,  and  the  mob  assembled 
to  destroy  it.  The  publican  begged  them  to  pause,  and  con¬ 
sider  that  the  sign  had  cost  him  thirty-five  dollars,  but  the 
angry  citizens  were  resolved  that  this  should  be  no  objection. 
They  collected  the  amount  on  the  spot  by  subscription,  tore 
down  the  portrait,  and  made  a  bonfire  of  its  fragments. 

We  know  not  that  we  can  close  our  article  better  than  by 
copying  some  remarks  of  Mr.  .Dallas,  the  district  attorney, 
on  the  importance  of  the  mail. 

u  The  mail,  as  every  one  knows,  is  the  medium  by  which  the 
benefits  and  charms  of  social  intercourse  are  maintained.; 
and  in  a  trading  community  like  ours,  the  commerce,  the 
wealth,  the  comfort,  the  security  of  almost  every  individual 
depend  upon  the  mail.  u  The'  mail”  carries  through  this 
vast  continent  every  day,  property  to  an  immense  amount 
It  holds  communion  with,  and  draws  together  distant  friends. 
It  apprises  far-off  merchants  of  the  success  or  the  hazard  of 
their  speculations.  It  produces  a  sympathy  of  feeling,  an 
identity  of  interest,  and  a  fellowship  of  knowledge  between 
those  separated  by  an  almost  frightful  space.  Like  the  veins 
and  arteries  of  the  human  system,  it  cannot  be  assailed  with¬ 
out  injury  ;  to  rob  a  single  channel  of  its  accustomed  succour, 
is  to  draw  the  very  life’s  blood  from  the  social  and  trading  in¬ 
tercourse  of  mankind.  Severe  penalties  are  therefore  im¬ 
posed  in  order  to  protect  it.  These  penalties  are  justified  by 
other  considerations.  In  this  country  the  facilities  for  plunder 
are  so  great,  that  if  connived  at,  or  unpunished  when  detected, 
no  man  can  estimate  the  wide-spread  and  fatal  consequences. 

u  In  the  United  States  there  are  not  less  than  nine  thousand 
different  post-offices,  and  the  length  of  road  over  which  the 
mails  traverse,  embraces  an  extent  of  not  less  than  twelve 
thousand  miles  in  a  continued  line  !  These  mails  are  carried 
in  coaches,  on  horseback,  in  steam  boats,  and  by  other  con¬ 
veyances,  travelling,  within  the  most  moderate  computation, 
the  enormous  space  of  fourteen  millions  of  miles  in  the  course 
of  a  single  year ! 

“  How  fearfully  and  constantly  exposed  then  is  this  instru¬ 
ment  of  intercourse  in  trade,  civilisation,  and  feeling!  How 
necessary  to  protect  it — not  as  you  would  an  almost  valueless 
piece  of  personal  property — a  hat,  a  spoon,  an  umbrella, 

• - ,  which  administers  to  a  momentary  comfort,  but  as  you 

would  that  which  is  the  very  life  and  soul  of  all  that  contri¬ 
butes  to  comfort,  security,  and  happiness. 

“  In  no  country  on  the  globe,  perhaps,  is  the  mail  exposed  to 
greater  danger  than  in  this.  This  danger  arises  from  the 


252 


JOHN  FRANCIS  KNAPP  AND 


nature  of  our  country,  its  vast  extent,  and  the  comparative 
sparseness  of  its  population.  We  are  but  on  the  threshold  of 
a  boundless  and  unexplored  continent.  Some  of  our  mails 
travel  through  dark  and  dismal  forests  and  deserts,  over  mighty 
rivers,  through  gloomy  swamps,  and  on  untenanted  mountain's, 
continually  incurring  all  kinds  of  danger,  and  that  danger 
hopeless,  unless  the  powerful  arm  of  the  law,  and  the  still 
more  powerful  arm  of  Providence  be  lifted  for  its  protection. 

u  The  voice  of  our  citizens  imperatively  demands  the  pro¬ 
tection  of  the  mails:  and  this  demand  is  made  because  every 
man  feels  that  he  has  a  right  to  do  with  his  property  what  he 
pleases  ;  he  has  a  right  to  move  about  himself  and  to  transfer 
his  worldly  substance  when  and  as  often  as  he  pleases.” 


JOHN  FRANCIS  KNAPP  AND 

JOSEPH  JENKINS  KNAPP. 

On  the  evening  of  the  sixth  of  April,  eighteen  hundred  and  * 
thirty,  Mr.  Joseph  White,  a  respectable  and  very  rich  citizen 
of  Salem,  Essex  county,  Massachusetts,  retired  to  his  bed  at 
nine  o’clock,  his  usual  hour.  The  only  inmates  of  his  house 
beside  himself  were  Benjamin  White  and  Lydia  Kimball,  his 
servants,  and  Mrs.  Beckford  his  niece,  who  officiated  as  his 
house-keeper.  This  night  Mrs.  Beckford  was  absent  on  a 
visit  to  her  family  at  Wenham.  In  the  morning  Mr.  White 
was  found  dead  in  his  bed.  His  skull  had  been  fractured  by 
a  violent  blow,  and  he  had  received  several  stabs  with  a  dag¬ 
ger  in  his  breast  and  left  side.  Either  the  fracture  in  his 
skull  or  the  stabs  were  sufficient  to  have  caused  his  death. 

This  barbarous  murder  done  in  the  watches  of  the  ni^ht 
awakened  the  wildest  alarm  in  the  community.  Such  utter 
atrocity  had  never  been  known  in  Massachusetts.  Here 
was  no  purpose  of  revenge,  no  burst  of  passion,  no  provocation 
to  palliate  the  guilt  of  the  assassin.  It  was  apparent  from  all 
circumstances  that  the  crime  was  premeditated.  No  force  had 
been  used  in  effecting  an  entranoe.  The  window  by  which 
the  assassin  had  entered  was  unbarred,  and  the  person  who 
slept  nearest  Mr.  White  was  out  of  the  way.  The  object  of 
the  murderer  had  been  blood,  not  plunder,  for  nothing  was 
taken  away.  There  appeared  to  have  been  no  motive.  The 
excitement  was  tremendous.  A  great  reward  was  offered  by 


JOSEPH  JENKINS  KNAPP. 


253 


the  government  for  the  discovery  of  the  assassin,  and  Mr 
Stephen  White  the  nephew  of  the  deceased,  offered  another. 
Some  of  the  citizens  of  Salem  formed  themselves  into  a  Com¬ 
mittee  of  Vigilance  for  the  express  purpose  of  investigation: 
but  for  awhile  no  discovery  was  made. 

Shortly  after  the  two  persons  whose  names  stand  at  the  head 
of  this  article,  rode  to  Wenham  in  a  chaise.  On  their  return 
they  reported  that  an  attempt  had  been  made  to  rob  them  near 
Wenham  Pond,  by  two  men.  They  had  resisted  manfully 
and  saved  their  purses,  and  the  robbers  had  taken  to  flight. 
This  account  appeared  in  one  of  the  Salem  newspapers,  which 
at  the  same  time  vouched  for  the  respectability  of  the  Knapps. 
No  one,  for  a  while,  doubted  it.  On  the  contrary  the  belief 
gained  ground  that  Essex  county  was  infested  by  an  organ¬ 
ized  band  of  robbers  and  murderers. 

The  first  step  taken  by  the  proper  authorities  was  to  arrest 
a  young  man,  the  nephew  of  Mrs.  Beckford.  Nothing  ap¬ 
peared  against  him:  besides,  he  proved  an  alibi  and  was  dis¬ 
charged. 

About  the  fifteenth  of  May,  a  letter  was  found  in  the  Salem 
post-office  directed  to  J.  J.  Knapp.  The  father  of  the  young 
man  bore  the  same  name  and  took  the  letter  from  the  office, 
supposing  it  to  have  been  intended  for  himself.  We  let  this 
letter  speak  for  itself. 

“  Belfast,  May  12,  1830. 

“  Dear  Sir — I  have  taken  the  pen  at  this  time  to  address  an 
utter  stranger,  and  strange  as  it  may  seem  to  you,  it  is  for  the 
purpose  of  requesting  the  loan  of  three  hundred  and  fifty  dol¬ 
lars,  for  which  I  can  give  you  no  security  but  my  word,  and  in 
this  case  consider  this  to  be  sufficient.  My  call  for  money 
at  this  time  is  pressing  or  I  would  not  trouble  you;  but  with 
that  sum  \  have  the  prospect  of  turning  it  to  so  much  advan¬ 
tage,  as  to  be  able  to  refund  it  with  interest  in  the  course  of 
six  months.  At  all  events  I  think  that  it  will  be  for  your 
interest  to  comply  with  my  request,  and  that  immediately — 
that  is,  not  to  put  off  any  longer  than  you  receive  this.  Then 
sit  down  and  enclose  me  the  money  with  as  much  despatch  as 
possible,  for  your  own  interest.  This,  sir,  is  my  advice, 
and  if  you  do  not  comply  with  it,  the  short  period  between 
now  and  November  will  convince  you  that  you  have  denied  a 
request,  the  granting  of  which  will  never  injure  you,  the  re¬ 
fusal  of  which  will  ruin  you.  Are  you  surprised  at  this  asser¬ 
tion — rest  assured  that  I  make  it,  reserving  to  myself  the  rea¬ 
sons  and  a  series  of  facts,  which  are  founded  on  such  a  bottom 

12 


254 


JOHN  FRANCIS  KNAPP  AND 


as  will  bid  defiance  to  property  or  quality.  It  is  useless  for 
me  to  enter  into  a  discussion  of  facts  which  must  inevitably 
harrow  up  your  soul — no — I  will  merely  tell  you  that  I  am  ac¬ 
quainted  with  your  brother  Franklin  and  also  the  business 
that  he  was  transacting  for  you  on  the  2d  of  April  last;  and 
that  I  think  that  you  was  very  extravagant  in  giving  one  thou¬ 
sand  dollars  to  the  person  that  would  execute  the  business  for 
you — but  you  know  best  about  that,  you  see  that  such  things 
will  leak  out.  To  conclude,  sir,  I  will  inform  you,  that  there 
is  a  gentleman  of  my  acquaintance  in  Salem,  that  will  ob¬ 
serve  that  you  do  not  leave  town  before  the  1st  of  June,  giv¬ 
ing  you  sufficient  time  between  now  and  then  to  comply  with 
my  request;  and  if  I  do  not  receive  a  line  from  you,  together 
with  the  above  sum,  before  the  22d  of  this  month,  I  shall  wait 
upon  you  with  an  assistant.  I  have  said  enough  to  convince 
you  of  my  knowledge,  and  merely  inform  you  that  you  can, 
when  you  answer,  be  as  brief  as  possible.  Direct  yours  to 
Charles  Grant,  Jun.  of  Prospect,  Maine.” 

Mr.  Knapp  Seinor  handed  this  letter  to  the  Committee  of 
Vigilance.  On  the  sixteenth  of  the  month  J.  J.  Knapp  Jr.  in¬ 
formed’ one  Allen  that  his  father  had  received  an  anonymous 
letter  u  from  a  fellow  down  east,”  which  contained  a  great  deal 
of  trash  and  had  given  it  to  the  Committee  of  Vigilance  at  his 
request.  He  then  gave  Allen  two,  one  superscribed  to  the 
Hon.  Mr.  Barstow  and  the  other  to  Mr.  Stephen  White,  and 
desired  him  to  put  them  in  the  post-office,  in  order,  as  he  said, 
u  that  this  silly  affair  might  be  nipped  in  the  bud.”  Allen 
did  as  he  was  desired.  That  to  Mr.  Barstow  was  directed  in¬ 
side  to  the  Committee  of  Vigilance,  and  ran  as  follows. 

*  “  May  13th,  1830. 

u  Gentlemen  of  the  Committee  of  Vigilance — Hearing  that 
you  have  taken  up  four  young  men  on  suspicion  of  being  con¬ 
cerned  in  the  murder  of  Mr.  White,  I  think  it  time  to  in¬ 
form  you  that  Stephen  White  came  to  me  one  night  and 
told  me  if  I  would  remove  the  old  gentleman,  he  would  give  me 
5000  dollars;  he  said  he  was  afraid  he  would  alter  his  will  if 
he  lived  any  longer.  I  told  him  I  would  do  it,  but  I  was  afeard 
to  go  into  the  house,  so  he  said  he’d  go  with  me,  that  he  would 
try  to  get  into  the  house  in  the  evening  and  open  the  window, 
would  then  go  home  and  go  to  bed  and  meet  me  again  about 
11.  I  found  him  and  we  both  went  into  his  chamber.  I 
Cruck  him  on  the  head  with  a  heavy  piece  of  lead  and  then 


JOSEPH  JENKINS  KNAPP. 


255 


stabbed  him  with  a  dirk;  he  made  the  finishing  stroke  with 
another.  He  promised  to  send  me  the  money  next  evening, 
and  has  not  sent  it  yet,  which  is  the  reason  that  I  mention 
this.  Yours  &c.  Grant.” 

The  letter  sent  to  Mr.  Stephen  White  was  in  these  terms. 

“  Lynn,  May  12,  1830. 

u  Mr.  White  will  send  the  five  thousand  dollars  or  a  part  of 
it  before  to-morrow  night,  or  suffer  the  painful  consequences. 

N.  Claxton,  4th.” 

Immediately  on  the  receipt  of  the  letter  from  Belfast,  sign¬ 
ed  Grant,  the  Committee  of  Vigilance  sent  a  letter  directed 
according  to  request.  At  the  same  time  they  despatched  a 
police  officer  with  orders  to  watch  the  post-office,  and  arrest 
the  person  who  should  apply  for  the  letter.  In  consequence 
of  this  arrangement  a  person  by  the  name  of  Palmer  was 
taken.  He  was  a  man  of  infamous  character,  and  had  been 
two  years  in  Thomastown,  where,  as  he  said,  he  had  been 
u  occupied  in  cutting  stone  for  the  state.”  In  other  words 
he  had  passed  two  years  in  the  state  prison.  Upon  the  strength 
of  information  obtained  from  this  gallows  bird  six  persons 
were  apprehended,  viz.  John  Francis  Knapp,  Joseph  Jenkins 
Knapp,  his  brother,  Richard  and  George  Crowninshield, 
also  two  brothers,  Benjamin  Selman,  and  one  Chase. 

The  Knapps  were  both  very  young  men,  mariners  by  pro¬ 
fession.  Joseph,  the  younger,  had  married  the  daughter  of 
Mrs.  Beckford,  the  niece  of  Mr.  White  before  mentioned. 
The  Crowninshields  belonged  to  a  highly  respectable  family, 
but  were  both  desperate  villains,  Richard  especially.  He 
had  been  suspected  of  several  daring  robberies  before.  He 
was  ostensibly  a  machinist,  but  in  reality  one  who  lived  by 
depredations  on  the  public.  On  searching  his  premises  a 
quantity  of  stolen  goods  were  found,  which  discovery  and 
the  belief  that  his  case  was  hopeless  reduced  him  to  despair. 
He  therefore  hung  himself  with  his  neckcloth  to  the  grating 
of  his  cell,  and  died  as  he  had  lived,  obdurate  to  the  last. 
He  left  two  letters  in  which  he  acknowledged  the  excessive 
wickedness  of  his  character  in  general  terms,  but  made  no  direct 
avowal  of  his  participation  in  the  slaughter  of  Mr.  White. 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Colman  was  anxious  for  the  sake  of 
their  family  that  one  of  the  Knapps  should  confess,  and  save 
his  life  by  becoming  state’s  evidence.  He  therefore  went  to 
J.  J.  Knapp’s  cell  to  advise  nim  to  this  course.  He  told  him 
that  unless  he  confessed  before  the  arrival  of  Palmer’s  par- 


256 


JOHN  FRANCIS  KNAPP  AND 


don,  would  be  too  late.  Joseph  agreed  to  confess,  provided 
the  consent  of  his  brother  could  be  obtained.  In  this  inter¬ 
view  Mr.  Colman  learned  some  of  the  particulars  of  the  mur¬ 
der,  particularly  where  the  club  with  which  the  first  blow  was 
struck,  was  hidden.  He  afterwards  went  to  see  John  F. 
Knapp,  and  told  him  that  if  Joseph  did  not  confess  there 
would  be  no  chance  of  saving  his  life,  but  if  he  did,  he  might, 
thereby  escape,  and  he,  John  Francis,  might  be  pardoned  on 
account  of  his  youth.  He  moreover  asked  Francis  at  what 
time  the  murder  was  done.  He  replied,  at  an  early  hour  of 
the  evening,  and  that  but  one  person  was  in  the  house  at  the 
time.  That  person  was  Richard  Crowninshield.  He  also 
stated  that  the  club  before  mentioned  was  in  a  rat-hole  under 
the  steps  of  the  Howard  street  Church,  and  that  the  dagger 
had  been  worked  up  in  a  factory. 

It  had  been  intended  at  first  to  indict  Richard  Crownin¬ 
shield  as  principal  in  the  murder,  and  the  Knapps  as  accessa¬ 
ries,  but  the  death  of  Crowninshield  frustrated  this  arrange- 
.  ment.  As  the  law  stands  no  person  can  be  convicted  as  an 
accessary  to  any  crime  before  the  principal  has  been  convict¬ 
ed.  It  was  therefore  necessary  to  indict  one  of  the  Knapps 
as  principal.  The  law  itself  is  absurd:  Here  was  a  very  val¬ 
uable  citizen  slaughtered  in  his  bed  by  a  hired  bravo,  the 
bravo  dead,  and  unless  it  could  be  proved  that  one  of 
those  who  instigated  and  paid  him  was  present  aiding  and 
abetting  at  the  perpetration  of  the  deed,  this  dreadful  crime 
must  have  remained  unpunished.  The  Knapps  though  more 
guilty  than  their  miserable  tool  rnust  have  gone  at  large,  and 
might  have  avowed  their  siri  with  impunity.  Luckily y  evi¬ 
dence  was  found,  sufficient  to  obviate  this  difficulty. 

The  grand  jury  found  an  indictment  against  John  Fran¬ 
cis  Knapp  as  principal  in  the  murder  of  Joseph  White,  and 
against  Joseph  Jenkins  Knapp  and  George  Crowninshield  as 
accessaries  before  the  fact.  One  count  described  the  wounds 
as  having  been  given  by  J.  F.  Knapp,  Richard  Crowninshield 
being  present  aiding  and  abetting.  Another  reversed  these 
circumstances.  J.  F.  Knapp  was  arraigned  before  the  Su¬ 
preme  Court  at  Salem  in  July  and  pleaded  not  guilty. 

The  fact  of  the  murder  was  proved  by  the  evidence  of  Mr. 
White’s  domestics.  Benjamin  White  stated  that  when  he 
arose  the  morning  after  the  murder  he  found  the  window  of 
an  apartment  on  the  ground  floo-r  in  the  back  part  of  the  house 
open.  The  shutter  of  this  window  was  very  hard  to  open 
and  fastened  with  a  bar,  which  he  found  standing  by  the  side 


JOSEPH  JENKINS  KNAPP. 


257 


of  the  window.  A  plank  was  leaning  against  the  outside  of 
the  house  under  the  window,  as  if  for  some  one  to  climb  in 
upon,  and  foot-prints  were  discernible  on  the  ground. 

The  government  had  been  pledged  to  pardon  Joseph  Jen¬ 
kins  Knapp,  in  case  he  would  bear  witness  against  his  com¬ 
panions.  He  was  now  called  into  court,  but  refused  to  tes¬ 
tify,  on  which  the  court  recalled  the  pledge  of  government, 
and  Benjamin  Leighton  was  called  and  sworn. 

He  stated,  that  being  at  Wenham,  he,  about  a  week  before 
the  murder,  sat  down  behind  a  certain  wall.  In  this  situation 
he  heard  voices,  and  looking  out,  beheld  the  two  Knapps 
approaching.  When  they  came  nigh  him  he  heard  Joseph 
say,  u  When  did  you  see  Dick?  ”  John  replied,  u  I  saw  him 
this  morning.”  Joseph  rejoined,  u  When  is  he  going  to  kill 
the  old  man?”  John  answered,  “I  don’t  know.”  Joseph 
said,  u  If  he  does  not  kill  him  soon  I  will  not  pay  him.”  Af¬ 
ter  this  conversation  they  turned  about  and  Leighton  neither 
saw  nor  heard  more  of  them  at  that  time. 

The  day  after  the  murder  Leighton  made  use  of  some  in¬ 
advertent  expressions  which  induced  a  belief  that  he  knew 
something  of  the  matter.  He  was  examined  and  declared  all 
•  he  knew.  However,  but  for  this  examination  he  would  have 
disclosed  nothing,  for  he  stood  in  mortal  fear  of  the  Knapps. 

The  Reverend  Henry  Colman  was  next  called.  He  said 
that  on  the  twenty-eighth  of  May  he  went  to  John  F.  Knapp’s 
cell  with  his  brother  Phippen  Knapp,  at  the  request  of  Phip- 
pen.  On  entering,  Phippen  said,  “  Well  Frank,  Joseph  has 
determined  to  make  a  confession,  and  we  want  your  consent.” 
The  prisoner  replied  that  he  thought  it  hard  Joseph  should 
have  the  benefit  of  confession  when  the  deed  was  done  for 
his  benefit.  He  said  that  when  Joseph  first  proposed  the  thing 
to  him  that  it  was  a  silly  business  and  would  only  get  them 
‘into  difficulty.  Phippen  then  said  that  if  Joseph  should  be 
convicted  there  would  be  no  chance  for  him,  but  he,  Francis, 
might  hope  for  pardon,  and  appealed  to  Mr.  Colman.  Mr. 
Colman  replied  that  he  was  unwilling  to  hold  out  any  improper 
encouragement. 

Mr.  Colman  had  proceeded  thus  far  in  his  testimony  when 
Mr.  Dexter,  the  prisoner’s  counsel,  objected  to  the  contin¬ 
uation  of  this  confession,  on  the  ground  that  an  inducement 
had  been  held  out  to  the  prisoner.  The  court  sustained  the 
objection  but  directed  Mr.  Colman  to  state  all  that  was  said 
relative  to  encouragement. 

He  said  .hat  in  the  course  of  the  interview  Phippin  Knapp 


258 


JOHN  FRANCIS  RNAPP  AND 


more  than  once  told  his  brother  that  there  might  be  a  hope  of 
pardon.  Frank  asked  him,  the  witness,  to  use  his  influence 
in  his  behalf.  Mr.  Colman  replied  that  he  could  promise 
nothing,  but  thought  his  youth  might  be  in  his  favor.  He 
received  precise  directions  from  Frank  where  to  find  the  club 
before  mentioned  and  found  it  accordingly. 

When  Palmer,  the  convict,  was  called,  Mr.  Gardiner,  also 
counsel  for  the  prisoner,  objected  to  his  evidence,  on  the 
ground  of  a  want  of  religious  belief,  but  on  declaring  his 
faith  in  a  future  state  of  rewards  and  punishments  he  was 
permitted  to  testify.  He  stated  that  on  the  second  of  April 
he  saw  the  prisoner  in  company  with  George  Crowninshield 
at  Danvers.  On  the  same  day,  the  witness  had  a  conver¬ 
sation  with  the  two  Crowninshields  touching  the  proposed 
assassination  of  Mr.  White.  They  had  been  moved  to  the 
undertaking  by  Frank  Knapp.  George  Crowninshield  pro¬ 
posed  to  Palmer  to  take  a  part  in  the  murder,  and  offered  him 
a  third  of  the  reward  promised  by  Joseph  Knapp,  if  he  would 
consent.  The  reward  was  a  thousand  dollars.  George  said 
that  Mr.  White  was  then  at  his  farm,  and  Richard  urged  that 
it  would  be  easy  to  meet  him  and  overturn  his  carriage  that 
very  night.  George  told  Palmer  that  he  was  poor  and  needy, 
and  that  this  would  be  a  good  opportunity  to  supply  his  wants. 
He  added  that  the  house-keeper  ivould  be  away  at  the  time  of 
the  murder.  Joseph  Knapp’s  object  in  the  affair  was  under¬ 
stood  to  be  to  have  a  will  destroyed  which  was  contrary  to 
his  wife’s  interest  as  one  of  the  heirs  of  Mr.  White.  The 
will  was  said  to  devise  all  Mr.  White’s  property  to  Mr. 
Stephen  White,  and  it  was  intended  to  destroy  it  at  the  time 
of  the  murder. 

In  the  afternoon  Frank  Knapp  came  again  to  Danvers  in  a 
chaise  and  Richard  Crowriinshield  went  away  with  him.  After 
this  Palmer  went  to  Belfast,  whence  he  sent  the  letter  already 
mentioned  to  Joseph  Knapp.  He  did  not  positively  know 
when  he  wrote,  that  Joseph  Knapp  had  any  hand  in  the  crime, 
but  wished  to  know.  At  the  time  the  Crowninshields  pro¬ 
posed  the  murder  to  him,  Palmer  thought  it  a  mere  joke  and 
did  not  change  his  opinion  till  after  the  deed  was  done. 

The  testimony  of  Allen,  who  put  the  letters  written  by 
Joseph  Knapp  into  the  post-office,  corroborated  that  of 
Palmer,  as  far  as  it.  related  to  the  alleged  visit  of  Frank 
Knapp  to  Danvers.  The  keeper  of  a  livery  stable  in  Salem 
also  certified  that  Frank  Knapp  had  had  from  him  first  a 
saddle  horse,  and  afterwards  a  horse  and  chaise  on  th°  second 
of  April. 


JOSEPH  JENKINS  KNAPP. 


259 


Stephen  Mirick  kept  a  shop  near  Mr.  White’s  dwelling.  A 
little  before  nine  on  the  evening  of  the  murder  he  saw  a  man 
whom  he  believed  to  be  Frank  Knapp  standing  leaning  on  a 
post  before  his  shop.  When  auy  one  came  along  in  the  di¬ 
rection  from  Mr.  White’s  house  this  man  left  his  post,  met 
him,  and  returned  to  his  place.  The  witness  stood  awhile  to 
see  if  any  one  would  meet  and  accost  him,  but  as  no  one  did, 
closed  his  shop,  and  went  away,  leaving  the  man  on  his  post. 

If  Richard  Crowninshield  was  at  that  time  committing  or 
attempting  to  commit  the  murder,  and  if  Frank  Knapp  was 
waiting  for  him  in  the  street,  the  conduct  of  the  latter  would, 
it  is  probable,  have  been  like  that  of  the  man  seen  by  Mirick. 

Near  ten  o’clock  on  the  same  evening,  Mr.  Peter  Webster 
was  passing  through  Howard  street,  and  passed  two  persons 
in  company  one  of  whom  he  took  to  be  Frank  Knapp.  They 
were  walking  very  slowly,  and  appeared  to  be  waiting  for 
some  one. 

Several  more  persons  saw  the  same  man  standing  at  the 
post  before  mentioned,  and  all  believed  him  to  be  Frank 
Knapp,  though  none  could  swear  positively  to  his  identity. 
Two  of  them,  thinking  his  appearance  suspicious,  watched 
him.  One  of  these,  Mr.  Bray,  saw  a  person  come  up  to  him. 
They  stood  a  few  moments  together  and  then  ran  off,  one 
down  Howard  street  and  the  other  in  an  opposite  direction. 
From  the  place  where  the  first  was  watching  Mr.  White’s 
windows  could  be  seen. 

Joseph  Burns  was  a  Spaniard  who  had  lived  in  this  coun¬ 
try  many  years  and  kept  a  stable.  He  testified  that  some¬ 
time  after  the  murder  Frank  Knapp  came  to  him  and  asked 
if  any  one  was  in  the  stable  beside  himself.  On  being  an¬ 
swered  in  the  negative,  Knapp  asked  Burns  to  go  with  him 
into  the  stable  loft,  as  he  had  something  private  to  say  to  him. 
Burns  assented,  and  when  they  had  gained  the  loft  Knapp 
asked  him  if  he  knew  anything  concerning  the  murder.  He 
replied  that  he  did  not — he  wished  he  did,  for  he  would  soon 
make  it  known.  Knapp  then  said  that  the  Committee  of 
Vigilance  had  heard  that  Burns  was  abroad  after  ten  o’clock, 
on  the  night  of  the  murder.  He  advised  him  if  he  had  been 
out  himself,  or  had  seen  any  of  his  friends  out,  and  should  be 
questioned  to  keep  what  he  knew  to  himself.  He  observed 
that  he  and  his  brother  were  friendly  to  Burns  and  had  a  good 
deal  of  money.  He  added  that  the  Committee  would  learn 
one  thing  or  other  by  pumping.  Burns  replied  that  he  was 
ready  to  answer  anything  the  Committee  might  ask.  He 


260 


JOHN  FRANCIS  KNAPP  &C. 


1 


then  asked  Knapp  what  he  thought  of  the  two  Crowninshields, 
who  were  then  in  prison.  Knapp  replied,  “  They  are  as 
innocent  as  you  or  L”  Burns  asked  him  who  he  thought 
was  the  murderer,  and  was  answered  that  Stephen  White  was 
one.  Bur* s  said,  u  Don’t  tell  me  about  Stephen  White,  I 
have  known  him  since  he  was  eighteen  years  old.”  At  these 
words  Knapp  laid  his  hand  on  the  hilt  of  a  dirk,  but  Burns 
told  him  he  did  not  care  for  him  and  twenty  dirks.  Knapp 
then  said  he  had  come  as  a  friend  to  Burns  to  put  him  on  his 
guard.  Here  the  conversation  ended. 

Mary  Weller,  an  infamous  prostitute  and  keeper  of  a  bro¬ 
thel  was  introduced  to  prove  an  alibi  in  the  case  of  George 
Crowninshield.  As  far  as  her  evidence  was  credible  she 
established  the  fact. 

Another  person  proved  the  connexion  of  Mr.  Joseph  White 
with  Stephen  White  and  with  the  Knapps.  Stephen  White' 
was  his  nephew. 

Palmer  being  recalled  stated  that  after  the  murder  George 
Crowninshield  told  him  that  he  and  his  brother  had  no  hand 
in  it.  Richard,  speaking  on  the  same  subject,  said  they,  the 
Crowninshields,  were  suspected  and  that  they  meant  to  leave 
home,  as  it  was  a  bad  plan  to  be  arrested.  He  also  said  that 
they  had  melted  the  dagger  with  which  the  murder  was  com¬ 
mitted. 

Mr.  Webster,  counsel  on  the  part  of  the  prosecution,  now 
moved  for  a  reconsideration  of  the  grounds  on  which  the 
court  had  excluded  the  confession  made  by  Frank  Knapp  to 
Mr.  Colman  as  evidence.  After  a  long  argument  the  court 
decided  that  the  confession  should  be  given  in  evidence  and 
Mr.  Colman  was  called  to  the  stand.  The  amount  of  his 
testimony  was  that  John  Francis  Knapp  had  admitted  his  guilt 
and  assented  to  everything  his  brother  had  confessed. 

There  was  some  discrepancy  between  the  testimony  of 
Phippen  Knapp  and  that  of  Mr.  Colman,  and  it  was  attempt¬ 
ed  to  prove  an  alibi,  but  the  endeavour  was  fruitless. 

A  very  eloquent  defence  was  made  by  the  prisoner’s 
counsel,  and  it  availed.  The  jury  could  not  agree  on  a 
verdict.  A  second  jury,  having  heard  the  same  testimony 
found  John  Francis  Knapp  guilty  and  sentence  of  death  was 
passed  on  him. 

It  appears  that  the  property  of  Mr.  White,  had-  he  died 
without  a  will,  would  have  descended  to  Stephen  White  and 
Mrs.  Beckford.  Joseph  J.  Knapp,  however,  understood 
there  was  a  will  in  favor  of  Stephen  White,  and  of  course  un 


JOHN  VAN  ALSTINE. 


261 


favorable  to  his  mother  in  law.  It  was  his  object  and  purpose 
to  destroy  Mr.  White  and  the  will  and  he  succeeded  in  both. 
Unluckily  for  him  another  will  was  found  substantially  the 
same  with  the  one  destroyed.  It  is  known  that  Richard 
Crowninshield  killed  Mr.  White  while  Frank  Knapp  kept  watch 
without.  The  old  gentleman  was  probably  slain  outright  by 
the  first  blow  with  the  club,  but  to  make  sure  the  assassin  lifted 
his  left  arm  and  gave  him  thirteen  stabs.  Even  then  he  was 
not  satisfied  that  his  victim  was  dead  till  he  had  consulted  his 
pulse  and  found  that  it  had  ceased  to  beat.  He  never  got 
even  the  miserable  bribe  that  had  been  promised. 

At  the  trial  of  Joseph  J.  Knapp  his  written  confession  was 
produced  and  he  was  convicted  as  an  accessary  before  the 
fact.  He  also  received  sentence  of  death. 

Frank  Knapp  showed  no  fear  during  his  trial  or  afterwards 
He  received  spiritual  consolation  in  prison,  and  by  his  own 
request  was  executed  as  soon  as  he  appeared  on  the  gallows. 
His  brother  was  not  so  firm.  He  died  many  times  before  his 
death,  and  it  was  necessary  to  support  him  at  the  place  of 
execution. 

George  Crowninshield  was  tried  as  an  accessary  before 
the  fact  and  acquitted.  According  to  the  confession  of  Jo¬ 
seph  J.  Knapp  he  knew  what  was  intended  long  before  it  took 
place. 

The  prevailing  opinion  respecting  this  dark  transaction  is 
wonder  that  New  England  should  contain  four  persons  base 
enough  to  have  engaged  in  it. 


JOHN  VAN  ALSTINE. 

V 

Van  Alstine  was  born  at  Canajoharief  Montgomery  coun¬ 
ty,  New  York,  in  the  year  seventeen  hundred  and  seventy- 
nine.  He  was  the  only  son  of  his  father  and  on  that  account 
was  treated  with  injudicious  indulgence.  He  was  a  youth  of 
strong  natural  parts,  ambitious,  and  so  active  and  industrious 
that  from  the  age  of  twelve  years  his  parent  confided  the 
management  of  his  farm  and  the  chief  control  of  his  affairs  to 
him.  His  education  was  such  as  is  usually  given  to  the  sons 
of  husbandmen:  he  could  read  and  write,  and  knew  something 

12* 


'  262 


JOHN  VAN  ALSTINE. 


of  figures.  In  seventeen  hundred  and  ninety-five,  the  fami¬ 
ly  removed  to  Sharon,  in  Schoharie  county,  and  the  year 
after  the  elder  Van  Alstine  died,  leaving  the  subject  of  this 
memoir  at  the  age  of  sixteen  to  support  a  mother  and  three 
sisters. 

His  worldly  affairs  prospered:  his  anxiety  to  acquire  prop¬ 
erty  stimulated  him  to  uncommon  exertions  which  were  crown¬ 
ed  with  success.  He  gained  considerable  money  by  the  bar¬ 
ter  of  petty  articles,  and  finally  became  a  jockey  and  swapper 
of  horses.  In  all  these  matters  he  held  fast  to  his  integrity, 
but  his  desire  of  getting  and  keeping  money  grew  by  habit 
into  a  passion,  which  finally  brought  him  to  an  untimely  and 
ignominious  death.  Nevertheless,  he  was  for  a  long  time 
considered  one  of  the  most  respectable  men  in  the  neighbour¬ 
hood. 

After  a  courtship  of  five  years  he  married  a  young  woman 
to  whom  he  was  warmly  attached,  and  whose  character  justi¬ 
fied  his  affection.  Their  harmony  was  never  interrupted,  and 
in  all  his  crosses  and  afflictions  she  sustained  her  proper  part; 
that  of' a  kind,  tender,  and  obliging  helpmate.  One  affliction 
only  had  its  source  in  his  marriage.  Two  years  after  it  took 
place  a  dispute  arose  between  his  wife  and  the  other  mem¬ 
bers  of  his  family.  Van  Alstine  took  part  witfl  his  wife,  and 
in  consequence  his  mother  and  sisters  left  his  house.  After 
this  event  his  fortune  seemed  to  undergo  a  change,  and  his 
affairs  did  not  prosper  as  before. 

This  change  was  in  some  measure  owing  to  his  peculiar 
character.  He  was,  though  a  man  of  kind  and  warm  feel¬ 
ings,  very  irritable  and  obstinate.  He  was  close  and  prudent 
in  his  affairs,  but  the  poor  man  never  went  away  empty  from 
his  doors.  He  was  easily  moved  by  persuasion,  but  could 
not  be  swayed  in  the  least  by  opposition  or  harshness;  on  the 
contrary  he  became  more  inflexible  as  difficulties  thickened 
around  him.  His  stubbornness  was  so  great  that  when  engag¬ 
ed  in  lawsuits  with  his  neighbours,  he  would  make  any  sac¬ 
rifice  rather  than  make  the  slightest  advance  toward  an  ami¬ 
cable  arrangement.  His  temper,  we  have  said  was  violent, 
but  he  was  easily  appeased,  and  it  never  caused  him  to  raise 
his  hand  to  strike,  but  in  two  instances.  Once  he  killed  a 
refractory  horse  of  his  own  in  a  moment  of  passion:  the  oth¬ 
er  instance  will  presently  come  under  consideration.  Delib¬ 
erate  injury  he  never  committed,  unless  when  he  had  been 
previously  wronged.  In  such  cases  he  often  carried  his  re¬ 
venge  so  far  as  to  hurt  himself  His  character  was  partly 


JOHN  VAN  ALSTINE. 


263 


constitutional,  partly  owing  to  the  way  in  which  he  was  brought 
up.  The  only  other  fault  with  which  he  can  be  charged  was 
an  inordinate  fondness  for  horse-racing,  which  led  him  into 
many  troubles.  He  was  so  fond  of  this  pastime  that  he 
would  ride  sixty  miles  to  enjoy  it,  neglecting  his  business. 
This  conduct  brought  embarrassments  on  his  property,  which 
had  become  considerable,  and  these  rendered  him  more  irri¬ 
table  and  morose  than  he  would  otherwise  have  been.  It  is 
painful  to  see  a  man  so  estimable  in  many  things  so  led 
astray  by  passion  as  to  imbrue  his  hands  in  the  blood  of  a 
fellow-creature. 

In  the  year  eighteen  hundred  and  eighteen  Van  Alstine 
was  involved  in  lawsuits,  the  result  of  which  was  that  a  part 
of  his  property  was  advertised  to  be  sold  for  the  benefit  of 
one  Horning,  his  creditor.  At  a  former  sale  of  part  of  his 
property  on  a  like  account,  Van  Alstine  had,  or  thought 
he  had  just  cause  of  complaint  against  William  Huddlestone, 
the  sheriff.  On  the  present  occasion  the  sale  was  appoint¬ 
ed  to  take  place  on  the  nineteenth  of  October,  and  on  that 
day,  Van  Alstine  remained  in  his  house  till  the  afternoon, 
but  finding  that  no  person  came,  he  went  into  one  of  his 
fields  and  began  to  harrow  it.  While  he  was  thus  at  work, 
four  persons  came  up  on  horseback,  and  he  went  with  them 
Ho  his  house,  leaving  his  horses  in  the  field  in  their  harness. 
One  of  them  asked  if  there  was  not  to  be  a  vendue  at  his 
house,  and  he  replied,  u  Yes,  they  are  always  having  vendues, 
but  they  may  sell  and  be  d — d.  If  they  take  my  property 
they  will  be  glad  to  bring  it  back.”  He  also  abused  Mr. 
Huddlestone  in  no  measured  terms.  While  they  were  thus 
conversing  the  unfortunate  sheriff  rode  up,  and  Yan  Alstine 
asked  why  he  had  not  come  before,  as  they  had  been  waiting 
for  him.  Mr.  Huddlestone  said  it  was  time  enough,  and  ask¬ 
ed  if  Van  Alstine  had  any  money  for  him.  He  replied,  tc  No, 
and  I  don’t  want  any.”  The  others  then  rode  off  leaving 
Van  Alstine  and  the  sheriff  together. 

Mr  Huddlestone  told  Van  Alstine  that  the  sale  was  post¬ 
poned  foi  a  week,  but  that  he  had  another  execution  against 
him  and  asked  if  he  could  pay  a  small  sum  on  an  old  one. 
He  answered  that  perhaps  he  could,  and  Mr.  Huddlestone 
then  proposing  to  give  his  horse  some  oats  they  went  to  the 
barn  together.  They  had  to  pass  through  a  fence  and  Yan 
Alstine  let  down  the  bars.  While  the  Sheriff  was  leading  his 
horse  over,  Van  Alstine  in  a  jocular  manner  remarked  that 
he  would  take  his  own  horse  and  run  away.  Huddlestone 


264 


JOHN  VAN  ALSTINE. 


answered  that  he  had  better  not,  as  he  should  follow  him 
Van  Alstine  now  gave  the  horse  some  oats,  and  the  sheriff 
sat  down  on  a  bushel  measure  to  calculate  the  sum  due 
on  the  old  execution,  which  amounted  to  about  eight  dollars. 
Van  Alstine  asked  to  see  the  last  execution,  and  the  sheriff 
showed  it  to  him,  without,  however,  letting  it  go  out  of  his 
hands.  He  then  said  that  he  had  been  ordered  to  collect  the 
whole  sum  due  on  it,  without  allowing  for  the  payment  of  sums 
for  which  Van  Alstine  held  receipts.  These  words  put  the 
miserable  man  in  an  outrageous  passion,  and  without  the  least 
hesitation  he  struck  Huddlestone  a  violent  blow  with  an 
oaken  bar  that  he  held,  and  felled  him  to  the  floor.  He  then 
repeated  the  blow,  beat  out  one  eye  and  fractured  the  skull 
of  his  victim.  The  weapon  was  a  heavy  one,  being  the  bar 
used  to  fasten  the  barn  doors. 

Compunction  succeeded  anger;  he  dropped  his  club  and  at 
the  same  moment  perceived  his  two  sons  coming  toward  him 
Thinking  they  had  seen  something  he  jerked  the  body  into 
the  barn  by  the  foot,  and  ran  to  meet  and  prevent  them  from 
coming  nigh.  Having  sent  them  away  on  other  errands, 
he  returned,  dragged  the  corpse  of  his  victim  into  a  corner 
of  the  barn,  and  covered  it  with  straw.  Then  to  divert  sus¬ 
picion  he  busied  himself  in  chopping  wood,  all  the  while 
resolving  in  his  mind  the  means  of  concealing  the  body.  Had 
he  dug  a  grave  in  the  green  sod  it  would  have  attracted  imme¬ 
diate  notice,  and  he  therefore  determined  to  bury  Huddle- 
stone  in  the  ploughed  field  he  had  been  harrowing.  Having 
formed  this  resolution  he  went  home  to  sup,  and  await  the 
darkness. 

It  was  a  bright  moonlight  night,  and  as  the  homicide  was 
executing  his  purpose  conscience  raised  up  a  thousand  wit¬ 
nesses  of  his  doings.  After  digging  the  grave  he  went  to  the 
barn,  took  what  money  was  in  the  pockets  of  the  deceased 
and  shouldered  the  body.  He  carried  it  by  a  round  about 
way  to  the  grave,  to  avoid  being  seen,  a  distance  of  four 
hundred  yards,  without  once  stopping.  On  the  way  he  was 
obliged  to  climb  over  a  fence  with'  his  load  on  his  shoulder. 
At  every  sound  he  fancied  he  heard  the  footsteps  of  a  pursuer. 
He  then  took  off  his  victim’s  boots,  threw  him  into  the  hole 
and  covered  him  up.  He  hid  the  boots  under  a  stone,  and 
an  inkstand  that  had  been  in  Huddlestone’s  pocket  under  a 
fence.  All  the  bills  he  had  taken,  excepting  a  three  dollar 
note,  he  put  into  a  stump,  where  they  were  afterwards  found 
nibbled  by  mice.  Nothing  now  remained  but  to  dispose  of 


JOHN  VAN  ALSTINE. 


265 


the  sheriff’s  horse,  and  had  he. attended  to  this  on  the  same 
night  he  might  have  escaped  detection.  Instead  of  so  doing 
he  went  home  and  went  to  bed. 

He  rose  in  the  morning  at  day-break,  and  rode  the  horse 
about  half  a  mile  from  his  house  to  a  bridge,  under  which  he 
hid  the  saddle.  He  next  took  the  animal  into  a  swamp  and 
tied  him  to  a  sapling,  returned,  and  harrowed  over  the  grave. 
He  also  endeavoured  to  efface  the  stains  of  blood  from  the 
fence  over  which  he  had  clomb.  A  little  before  sunset  he 
went  and  loosened  the  horse  which  ran  half  a  mile  before  he 
could  lay  hands  on  him  again.  Just  as  he  had  caught  the 
horse  he  saw  that  he  was  observed  by  a  woman,  and  putting  a 
bold  face  on  the  matter  he  led  the  animal  directly  toward  her. 
After  this  he  hid  the  horse  at  different  times  in  different  places. 

When  Huddlestone  was  missed  suspicion  fell  upon  Van 
Alstine.  He  had  passed  the  bill  he  took  from  the  deceased, 
and  it  was  observed  to  be  stained  with  blood.  On  the  sixteenth 
of  the  month  conversing  with  a  neighbour  on  the  subject,  he 
declared  his  belief  that  the  sheriff  had  absconded  with  the 
money  he  had  collected.  He  said  it  had  been  intimated  to 
him  that  he  had  killed  Huddlestone,  that  he  had  received  the 
bill  before  mentioned  from  a  friend  whom  he  could  produce 
if  that  would  give  any  satisfaction.  Having  learned  that  a 
search  for  the  body  was  to  be  made  the  next  day,  he  went  and 
hid  Huddlestone’s  horse  in  what  he  thought  a  safe  place  in 
the  woods,  and  returned  home.  He  went  to  bed  without  any 
intention  of  escaping. 

He  woke  about  midnight  and  his  wife  observed  that  he  had 
been  speaking  about  removing,  and  if  he  chose  to  go  and  look 
for  a  place  she  was  willing  and  would  take  good  care  of  his 
affairs  in  his  absence.  He  asked  her  why  she  spoke  in  this 
manner,  and  she  answered  that  everything  seemed  to  turn 
against  him.  He  demanded  to  know  if  she  believed  him  guilty 
of  the  murder.  She  replied  that  she  did  not  know.  Guilty  as 
he  was  Van  Alstine  could  not  bear  to  lower  himself  in  this  af¬ 
fectionate  woman’s  esteem  by  acknowledging  his  crime.  He 
said  he  should  probably  be  apprehended  the  next  day  on  sus¬ 
picion,  and  that  he  would  as  lief  be  in  hell  as  in  jail.  He  added 
however  that  if  he  took  to  flight  suspicion  would  be  stronger. 
Finding  that  she  wished  him  to  escape,  he  arose,  carried  a 
saddle  to  Huddlestone’s  horse  and  took  the  road  to  Canada. 

The  search  took  place  the  next  day  and  the  body  was  found, 
as  well  as  the  bills  and  other  articles  Van  Alstine  had  secret- 


266 


JOHN  VAN  ALSTINE. 

\ 

ed.  Blood  was  observed  on  the  fence  and  in  the  barn  whtrc 
the  murder  had  been  perpetrated.  * 

The  homicide  reached  Kingston,  in  Canada,  in  safety,  pass¬ 
ing  by  the  name  of  John  Allen.  Here  he  fell  in  with  one 
Page,  who  showed  him  a  proclamation  offering  a  reward  for 
his  apprehension.  Thence  he  went  to  Buffalo  and  embarked 
on  board  a  schooner,  intending  to  proceed  to  Sandusky  or 
some  other  remote  town  in  the  western  states.  Opposite 
Long  Point  a  head  wind  compelled  the  vessel  to  anchor  and 
increased  in  violence  till  she  parted  her  cable.  There  was  a 
passenger  on  board  named  Slocum,  who  compared  Van  Al- 
stine’s  person  with  the  description  in  the  governor’s  proclama¬ 
tion,  and  came  to  the  conclusion  that  he  was  the  fugitive 
indicated.  As  soon  as  the  schooner  reached  the  shore,  which 
she  did  at  Black  Rock,  Slocum  caused  him  to  be  arrested  and 
lodged  in  Buffalo  jail.  He  persisted  in  calling  himself  Allen 
till  he  was  identified  by  a  person  who  had  seen  him  before. 
He  then  gave  up  all  thoughts  of  concealment,  and  was  con¬ 
veyed  to  Scoharie. 

He  avowed  that  when  apprehended  at  Buffalo  he  was  strong¬ 
ly  tempted  to  commit  suicide,  and  went  so  far  as  to  attempt 
to  strangle  himself  with  his  neckcloth.  He  thought  more 
than  once  on  the  road  to  Scoharie  of  throwing-  himself  head¬ 
long  out  of  the  carriage,  but  the  thoughts  of  what  must  be 
the  punishment  of  such  a  crime  in  the  next  world  deterred 
him. 

On  the  sixteenth  of  November  he  was  arraigned  and 
pleaded  not  guilty.  It  was  proved  that  the  spectacle  case  of 
Huddlestone  was  found  in  the  straw  where  his  body  had  lain; 
and  that  Van  Alstine  had  pretended  to  have  paid  the  execu¬ 
tions  against  him,  wishing  to  make  it  appear  that  the  sheriff  had 
absconded  with  the  money.  It  appeared  too  in  evidence  that 
he  had  made  use  of  ambiguous  expressions  touching  the  in¬ 
tended  sale  of  his  property,  which  were  now  construed  unfavor¬ 
ably  for  him.  The  fact  of  his  having  fled  on  Huddlestone’s 
horse  was  also  clearly  established.  His  guilt  was  made  appar¬ 
ent  by  other  incontestible  evidence,  and  the  jury  brought  in  a 
verdict  of  guilty.  The  chief  justice  then  asked  him  if  he  had 
any  reason  to  offer  why  sentence  of  death  should  not  be  pro¬ 
nounced,  and  he  replied  that  he  had  none.  Sentence  was  then 
rei  dered. 

The  suggestions  of  avarice  and  passion  had  not  been  able 
to  eradicate  the  good  principles  in  which  the  unhappy  man 
had  been  educated.  His  penitence  was  as  signal  as  his  guilt. 


EDWARD  TINKER.  .  267 

It  is  to  be  hoped  that  by  referring  his  burden  of  sin  to  him 
most  able  to  bear  it,  he  made  an  acceptable  atonement. 

He  was  executed  pursuant  to  his  sentence 


EDWARD  TINKER. 

This  man  belonged  to  Newburn,  Craven  County,  North 
Carolina.  He  there  married  a  Miss  Durand,  by  whom  he  had 
children.  He  was  the  master  of  a  small  schooner,  and  was 
engaged  in  the  coasting  trade.  Peter  Durand,  his  brother  in 
law,  was  one  of  his  crew  and  sailed  with  him. 

In  eighteen  hundred  and  ten,  while  his  schooner  was 
lying  at  Baltimore,  an  Irish  lad,  only  known  by  the  name  of 
Edward,  came  on  board  and  desired  to  be  received  as  an 
apprentice.  He  seemed  to  be  about  seventeen  years  old. 
After  some  conversation  Tinker  agreed  to  receive  him,  and 
he  became  one  of  the  crew.  No  indentures  were  made  out, 
but  it  was  understood  that  they  were  to  be  prepared  on  the 
arrival  of  the  vessel  at  Newburn. 

The  vessel  was  insured  to  her  full  value,  and  before  she 
sailed  from  Baltimore,  Potts,  the  mate,  and  Peter  Durand 
bored  holes  in  her  bottom  with  an  inch  auger,  and  stopped 
them  with  wooden  plugs  by  Tinker’s  orders.  He  said  it  would 
be  very  lucky  if  she  ever  reached  Newburn.  She  sailed  on  the 
second  of  March,  and  while  on  the  passage  Tinker  treated 
the  boy  Edward  kindly,  appearing  to  be  attached  to  him. 
Once  when  Potts  was  about  to  chastise  him  Tinker  prevent¬ 
ed  it.  When  the  schooner  had  passed  Ocracock  Bay,  Tin¬ 
ker  ran  her  on  a  reef,  and  ordered  the  plugs  to  be  taken  out, 
which  service  was  performed  by  Potts  and  Durand.  The 
master  and  crew  saved  themselves  and  a  large  sum  in  specie 
in  the  boats.  When  they  came  to  Roanoke  Island,  Tinker 
waited  on  the  Notary  Public  with  a  written  declaration  that 
his  vessel  had  been  cast  away  in  a  gale  of  wind.  To  this 
statement  he  made  oath,  and  persuaded  Durand  to  do  the  same, 
telling  him  it  was  a  matter  of  no  more  moment  than  drinking 
a  glass  of  grog.  Truly  these  men  had  but  small  respect  for 
the  awful  name  they  thus  took  in  vain.  Durand  was  indeed 
a  young  man,  and  under  many  obligations  to  his  brother  in 


268 


EDWARD  TINKER. 


law.  Potts  perjured  himself  without  scruple,  following  the 
example  and  advice  of  his  principal,  as  did  another  sailor 
named  Smith.  These  persons,  with  Edward,  constituted  the 
whole  crew.  Edward  was  the  only  one  who  would  not  swear, 
and  his  virtue  made  it  necessary  for  Tinker  to  get  rid  of  him. 

When  they  reached  Newburn  they  all  went  to  board  with 
Tinker  in  his  house,  till  he  should  get  another  vessel,  which 
he  soon  did.  For  some  reason  unknown  Edward  became 
dissatisfied,  and  on  the  seventh  of  April  applied  to  Captain 
Cook  of  the  revenue  cutter  for  employment.  Captain  Cook 
shipped  him  at  sixteen  dollars  per  month.  This  increased 
Tinker’s  enmity,  and  he  resolved  to  destroy  the  unfortunate 
lad. 

On  Sunday  evening  the  eighth  of  April,  Tinker  went  to 
church,  and  after  his  return  desired  Peter  Durand  to  procure 
some  rum.  He  did  so,  and  on  his  return  Tinker  desired  him 
to  awaken  the  boy  Edward  without  disturbing  the  rest  of  the 
family,  and  tell  him  they  were  going  to  shoot  ducks.  Durand 
did  as  he  was  commanded,  and  while  Edward  was  dressing 
Tinker  got  his  gun.  When  about  to  start  the  lad  said  he  had 
left  his  hat  in  the  kitchen,  but  Tinker  told  him  not  to  mind 
that  for  he  would  not  want  it,  which  unhappily  proved  but  too 
true.  The  boy  tied  his  handkerchief  round  his  head  and  they 
all  started  together. 

As  they  went  along  the  street  they  met  two  watchmen. 
One  of  them  said,  u  What  brother!  are  you  going  to  your  ves¬ 
sel  at  this  time  of  night?  ”  Tinker  nodded  in  token  of  assent. 
They  then  left  the  watchmen  and  when  they  had  reached 
Tinker’s  boat,  the  wretch  proposed  to  go  to  a  neighbouring 
marsh  to  kill  ducks.  Durand  said  that  if  he  was  going  down 
the  river  they  had  better  proceed  without  delay,  but  Tinker 
insisted  on  going  to  the  marsh  first,  saying  they  should  have 
time  enough. 

When  they  reached  the  marsh  Tinker  bade  Edward  go  for¬ 
ward  and  see  if  there  were  any  ducks  in  the  creek.  The  boy 
obeyed,  and  when  he  had  proceeded  five  or  six  yards  Tinker 
levelled  his  gun  and  lodged  the  whole  charge  of  coarse  shot 
in  his  back.  He  fell  dead  without  uttering  a  syllable. 

Durand  was  terrified  at  beholding  this  ruthless  deed,  and 
cried  out  for  very  fear.  The  savage  bade  him  “  hold  his 
jaw,”  and  offered  him  a  glass  of  spirits,  having  first  taken  one 
himself.  He  then  cut  off  the  boat’s  painter,  and  with  that  and 
a  cord  tied  two  stones  weighing  together  upwards  of  sixty 
pounds  to  the  body.  He  then  threw  it  into  the  water,  tied  it 


EDWARD  TINKER. 


269 


to  the  bow  of  the  boat  and  ordered  Durand  to  push  the  boat 
off.  When  they  had  towed  the  corpse  into  deep  water  Tin¬ 
ker  cut  the  rope,  and  it  sunk.  On  this  Durand  was  greatly 
agitated  and  told  his'  brother  in  law  he  would  disclose  the 
murder.  Tinker  bade  him  hold  his  peace,  said  he  would  leave 
the  country,  and  that  his  motive  for  killing  the  boy  was  his  in¬ 
tention  to  quit  him  and  ship  on  board  the  revenue  cutter, 
They  then  rowed  back  to  the  town  and  went  home. 

To  avenge  this  foul  and  most  unnatural  murder  the  stream 
gave  up  its  dead.  The  body  of  the  slaughtered  youth  rose, 
with  all  the  weight  attached  to  it.  It  was  discovered  floating 
and  brought  to  the  wharf  at  Newburn,  a  foul  and  disgusting 
spectacle,  in  the  last  stages  of  putrefaction.  Many  mortal 
shot  wounds  were  plainly  discernible.  It  was  at  once  recog¬ 
nised,  but  though  the  public  excitement  was  great  Tinker 
showed  no  anxiety,  no  curiosity  to  behold  the  mangled  remains 
of  his  apprentice.  Guilt  had  sealed  his  lips.  His  first  care 
was  to  take  boat  and  descend  the  river  to  his  vessel.  Suspi¬ 
cion  necessarily  fell  on  him,  and  Captain  Cook,  who  it  will  be 
remembered  had  also  a  claim  on  the  boy,  followed  him.  When 
he  reached  the  vessel’s  deck  and  told  Tinker  he  was  a  priso¬ 
ner  the  latter  said,  “  What  the  devil  is  all  this  about?  ”  but 
asked  no  farther  questions  touching  the  cause  of  his  arrest. 
One  of  the  posse  remarked  that  if  he  had  any  orders  to  give 
concerning  his  vessel  he  had  better  do  it  then,  as  it  would  pro¬ 
bably  be  long  before  he  would  see  her  again,  but  this  elicited 
no  answer.  He  was  then  taken  to  Newburn  and  committed. 

In  d  ue  time  he  was  arraigned  before  the  Superior  Court  of 
Craven  county,  but  in  consequence  of  a  deficiency  of  jurors, 
no  trial  took  place,  and  the  prisoner  applied  to  have  his  trial 
removed  to  Carteret*county,  giving  such  reasons  as  satisfied 
the  presiding  judge.  He  was  removed  to  Carteret  county 
and  soon  after  broke  jail  and  fled  to  Philadelphia.  The  sher¬ 
iff  of  Craven  county  offered  a  high  reward  for  his  apprehen¬ 
sion,  and  he  was  shortly,  recognised,  taken,  and  carried  back 
to  Newburn. 

While  he  was  awaiting  his  trial  he  wrote  a  letter  to  Peter 
Durand,  entreating  him  by  the  love  he  bore  his  sister  and  her 
children  to  retract  the  admissions  he  had  made  when  examin¬ 
ed  before  the  magistrates  and  to  swear  the  murder  to  Potts. 
On  this  condition  he  promised  to  leave  the  country,  and  added 
that  it  would  be  better  to  tell  twenty  lies  than  persist  in  a  true 
story  to  his  brother’s  disadvantage.  In  another  letter  to  a 
Mr.  Haywood  he  offered  to  give  any  sum  provided  he  would 


270 


ROBERT  H.  STERLING. 


procure  a  witness  to  swear  that  Peter  Durand  shot  the  boy, 
and  said  that  one  good  witness  in  his  behalf  would  be  enough 
to  clear  him.  He  also  wrote  to  a  Mr.  Hamburg  to  request 
that  he  would  procure  witnesses  in  his  favor.  In  a  second 
letter  to  Peter  Durand  he  besought  him  to  consider  the  dis¬ 
tress  of  Mrs.  Tinker  and  her  children,  put  him  in  mind  that 
he  owed  Potts  money,  and  again  entreated  him  to  charge  Potts 
with  the  murder.  In  case  they  should  be  convicted  of  perju¬ 
ry,  the  worst  he  said,  that  could  happen  to  either  would  be 
the  loss  of  a  piece  of  one  ear.  A  fourth  letter  to  his  sister 
pointed  out  the  person  he  wished  her  to  subor.n  and  whom  he 
proposed  to  reward  with  u  a  likely  negro.”  None  of  these  let¬ 
ters  were  received  by  the  persons  to  whom  they  were  address¬ 
ed  excepting  those  to  Peter  Durand,  and  they  were  all  after¬ 
wards  produced  in  court,  to  his  confusion. 

Tinker  was  tried  at  the  Carteret  Superior  Court  in  Septem¬ 
ber  eighteen  hundred  and  eleven. 

The  positive  testimony  of  Peter  Durand  to  the  facts  above 
related  was  corroborated  by  much  circumstantial  evidence. 
To  counteract  the  testimony  of  Durand,  it  was  urged  that  he 
had  no  respect  for  the  sanctity  of  an  oath,  as  he  had  before 
perjured  himself  in  his  account  of  the  loss  of  the  vessel.  It 
was  also  truly  alleged,  that  for  ten  days  after  the  murder  he 
had  said  nothing  concerning  it,  and  that  he  had  himself  been 
apprehended  on  suspicion.  His  testimony  before  the  magis¬ 
trates  at  the  time  of  his  arrest  differed  from  that  he  gave  on 
the  trial.  On  the  other  hand  he  had  received  many  favors 
from  Tinker,  was  his  near  connexion,  and  could  have  had  no 
motive  to  kill  the  boy  himself. 

While  the  trial  was  proceeding  Tinker’s  wife  appeared  as 
a  spectator,  in  mourning  weeds,  surrounded  by  her  children, 
and  made  the  hall  of  justice  resound  with  her  lamentations. 
This  appeal  to  the  feelings  of  the  jury  could  not  prevail  against 
a  perfect  chain  of  evidence.  The  prisoner  was  convicted, 
sentenced,  and  in  due  time  hanged. 


ROBERT  H.  STERLING. 

This  person  was  a  lawyer  of  fair  repute  in  Monroe,  Ouach¬ 
ita,  Louisiana.  We  give  the  following  account  of  his  trial 
for  a  cold-blooded  and  inhuman  murder,  because  it  serves  to 


ROBERT  H.  STERLING. 


271 


show  in  what  esteem  human  life  is  held  in  Louisiana,  and  to 
what  fatal  results  party  zeal  may  lead.  It  may  be  proper  to 
state,  by  way  of  preliminary,  that  General  Ferdinand  Morgan, 
the  man  slain  by  Sterling,  was  elected  a  senator  "of  Louisi¬ 
ana  in  the  summer  of  eighteen  hundred  and  thirty.  Colonel 
Morhouse,  Sterling’s  brother  in  law,  was  the  rival  candidate. 
In  the  course  of  the  contest  General  Morgan  gave  some  of¬ 
fence,  the  precise  nature  of  which  is  unknown  to  us,  to  a 
Captain  Hemkin,  who  thereupon  sent  him  a  challenge  by 
Morhouse,  on  the  sixth  of  September.  General  Morgan  re¬ 
fused  to  receive  it,  and  what  ensued  may  best  be  learned  from 
the  following  report  of  Sterling’s  trial  which  took  place  in 
December. 

The  facts  of  the  case  as  stated  b'y  Dr.  Savary  Lewis,  an 
eye  witness,  who  was  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street  at  the 
time,  were,  substantially,  that  on  the  seventh  Sept.  1830,  Gen¬ 
eral  Morgan  was  passing  the  door  of  Col.  Morhouse’s  office, 
in  company  with  Mr.  Alexander,  when  Col.  Morhouse  came 
out  of  his  office  and  presented  a  note  or  communication  to 
Morgan,  which  he  refused  to  receive.  Morhouse  spoke 
mildly  and  politely,  but  Morgan  was  loud  and  angry.  The 
witness  did  not  hear  what  was  said  while  they  were  together. 
Morgan  and  Mr.  Alexander  proceeded  down  the  street,  the 
way  they  were  walking  when  accosted  by  Morhouse.  When 
they  had  gone  about  forty  feet,  Morhouse,  who  had  moved  up 
at  the  same  time  a  few  steps  above  the  door  of  his  office, 
said  to  him,  u  I  believe  you  to  be  a  d - d  coward.”  Mor¬ 

gan  instantly  turned  round  and  started  back.  The  Doctor  then 
looked  and  saw  that  Morhouse  was  standing  with  his  side  to 
General  Morgan,  his  right  arm  extended,  and  a  pistol  in  his 
hand  presented  at  Morgan,  who  continued  to  advance  with 
his  cane  in  one  hand,  which  he  thought  was  his  left,  raised 
about  level  with  his  breast.  When  he  came  within  about 
eight  feet,  Morhouse  snapped  the  pistol  at  Morgan,  who  still 
advanced  and  struck  a  blow  over  his  right  shoulder.  Some 
blows  then  passed,  without  much  apparent  effect,  and  they 
became  separated.  Morhouse  then  threw  his  pistol  at  Mor¬ 
gan,  and  hit  him  on  the  head;  being  at  that  time  too  far  from 
him  to  hit  without  throwing  the  pistol.  Morgan  staggered 
back  about  three  paces,  recovered  himself  and  was  advancing 
towards  Morhouse,  when  Sterling  shot  him  in  the  back  from 
the  office  door.  About  the  time  Morgan  was  making  the 
first  step,  after  being  stunned  by  the  blow  of  the  pistol,  Dr. 
Lewis  observed  Sterling  in  the  door  of  the  office.  At  the 


212 


ROBERT  H.  STERLING. 


time  lie  shot,  only  his  arm  was  seen,  and  the  muzzle  of  the 
pistol  was  three  or  four  feet  from  Morgan’s  back  when  he 
fired.  Morgan  made  one  step  forward  and  put  his  left  hand 
on  the  spot  where  he  was  shot.  The  Doctor  did  not  see  the 
sword-cane  drawn  ;  he  saw  only  the  wooden  part  until  after 
the  first  blow  was  given.  When  the  cane  fell  it  was  unsheath¬ 
ed.  He  saw  the  cane  in  his  hand,  from  the  time  he  turned  till 
he  fell,  and  was  positive  he  saw  no  blade  till  he  was  falling. 
Morgan  could  not  have  seen  Sterling  when  he  fired. 

Dr.  McGuire,  who  examined  the  wound,  stated  that  the 
ball  entered  near  the  back  bone,  between  the  ninth  and  tenth 
ribs,  and  that  he  found  it  lodged  under  the  skin,  near  the  left 
pap,  a  little  above,  and  cut  it  out.  The  ball  was  exhibited 
in  court,  and  was  not  flattened  or  bruised.  He  stated  it  as 
his  opinion  that  Morgan  must  have  been  half  bent  when  he 
was  shot,  from  the  direction  which  the  ball  took.  The  floor 
of  the  office  where  Sterling  stood  was  eighteen  inches  above 
the  street. 

Wm.  Robinson  proved  that  Gen.  Morgan  had  dislocated  his 
right  wrist  some  months  before  his  death,  and  that  he  contin¬ 
ued  to  carry  his  right  hand  in  a  sling.  The  day  before  his 
death  he  tried  to  lift  a  hammer  with  his  right  hand,  in  which 
he  failed,  and  was  obliged  to  use  his  left  hand  to  drive  a  nail. 
About  the  middle  of  August  the  same  wrist  was  hurt  again 
by  his  horse,  which  took  fright. 

Dr.  Mason  stated  that  he  had  attended  him  as  surgeon  and 
set  his  wrist  ;  that  the  ligaments  were  much  lacerated  ;  that  a 
few  days  before  his  death,  he  could  not  shut  his  right  hand; 
the  muscle  had  become  rigid,  and  he  used  a  pen  with  much 
difficulty  with  his  thumb  and  fore  finger.  He  had  habitually 
carried  it  in  a  sling  in  public.  Three  or  four  days  before  his 
death,  he  knew,  from  a  particular  examination,  that  the  joint 
was  enlarged,  and  the  ligaments,  though  not  so  rigid  as  they 
had  been,  did  not  enable  him  to  close  his  hand.  It  was  the 
Doctor’s  opinion,  that  at  the  time  of  his  death  Gen.  Morgan 
could  not  use  a  sword-cane  with  any  effect,  and  that  he  was 
neither  left  handed  nor  ambidexter. 

Dr.  Holmes  and  Mr.  Filhiol,  who  were  standing  together 
a  little  up  street,  were  also  eye  witnesses,  of  the  affair.  Dr. 
Holmes  heard  the  epithet  coward  uttered  by  Morhouse  at 
the  time  he  thought  he  was  going  into  his  office;  at  which, 
Morgan  turned  and  advanced  towards  Morhouse,  who  was 
thirty  or  forty  feet  off.  Morgan  appeared  to  have  his  sword- 
cane  in  both  hands.  As  Morgan  was  in  the  act  of  ad- 


ROBERT  H.  STERLING. 


213 


vancing,  Morhouse  drew  a  pistol  and  presented  it  at  him; 
he  held  it  towards  Morgan  some  time.  When  Morgan  arrived 
(as  it  appeared  to  him,  who  was  nearly  in  a  line  with  the  par¬ 
ties)  within  three  or  four  feet,  the  pistol  flashed;  Morgan  still 
advanced,  and  Morhouse  either  threw  the  pistol  at  General 
Morgan,  or  struck  him  with  it  without  throwing.  At  that 
instant  a  pistol  was  fired  from  the  neighbourhood  of  the  office. 
General  Morgan  fell  in  a  short  time,  and  the  spear  or  blade 
fell  from  his  hand.  When  Morgan  turned,  as  the  word  cow¬ 
ard  was  uttered,  it  appeared  to  the  witness  that  he  /  was 
either  placing  himself  in  an  attitude  of  striking  or  of  drawing 
the  blade.  Colonel  Morhouse  held  his  pistol  at  Morgan 
sometime  before  he  flashed  it.  General  Morgan  evinced  a  great 
deal  of  courage  in  advancing  on  a  presented  pistol  in  that 
way.*  Dr.  Holmes  was  confident  he  did  not  see  the  cane 
drawn;  yet  he  might  be  mistaken.  He  saw  the  blade  for  the 
first  time  when  it  fell  from  Morgan’s  hand.  The  whole  was 
done  very  quickly  and  produced  considerable  confusion. 

Mr.  Filhiol,  who  was  examined  for  the  prisoner,  stated  near¬ 
ly  as  others  did,  the  interview  at  the  door  of  Morhouse’s  office. 
He  said  that  when  Morgan  and  Alexander  had  got  about  ten 
or  twelve  paces  from  the  office,  and  Colonel  Morhouse  made 
two  or  three  paces  toward  where  he  and  Dr.  Holmes  were 
standing,  he  heard  the  word  coward  uttered  by  Morhouse .  At 
that  moment,  General  Morgan  wheeled  and  started  towards 
Morhouse.  He  thought  that  Morgan  had  made  one  or  two 
steps,  before  Morhouse  discovered  that  he  was  coming  to¬ 
ward  him;  he  might  have  advanced  three  or  four  yards, 
before  this  witness  discovered  that  Morhouse  was  present¬ 
ing  a  pistol; — after  Morgan  came  pretty  near,  he  heard  the 
pistol  snap.  At  that  moment  Gen.  Morgan  rushed  at  Mor¬ 
house,  and  gave  him  a  blow;  from  Filhiol’s  position  he  could 
not  see  how.  Morgan  then  made  a  pass  at  Morhouse;  he 
saw  Morhouse  give  a  blow  with  his  pistol;  he  could  not  say 
whether  on  the  head  or  shoulder;  it  appeared  that  the  blow 
made  Morgan  retreat  about  two  paces;  it  appeared  to  him 
that  Morgan  was  rushing  again  on  Morhouse;  at  that  mo¬ 
ment  he  heard  the  pistol  from  the  door  of  Morhouse’s  office. 
When  Morgan  wheeled  he  held  the  cane  in  both  hands;  he 
could  not  see  whether  it  was  drawn  or  not;  he  was  much 
confused  by  the  occurrence.  On  his  cross-examination,  he 
stated  that  he  did  not  see  the  blade  of  the  sword-cane,  and 
that  he  could  not  see  in  which  hand  Morgan  held  the  cane. 

David  Powell,  who  was  standing  near  Dr.  Holmes  and  Mr. 


274 


ROBERT  II.  STERLING. 


Filhiol,  stated  that  as  Morgan  wheeled,  he  drew’  the  sword 
from  the  scabbard;  that  Morhouse  turned  round  and  drew  a 
pistol,  and  while  Morgan  was  advancing,  snapped  it;  that 
Morgan  advanced  with  the  spear  in  his  right  hand,  braced 
against  his  own  body,  and  the  scabbard  part  in  his  left  hand 
uplifted;  that  Morhouse  struck  as  if  to  ward  off  a  thrust  from 
his  breast;  that  the  pistol  did  not  escape  from  his  hand;  that 
Morgan  raised  the  scabbard  with  his  left  hand,  as  if  to  ward 
off  the  blow,  and  knocked  off  his  own  hat,  which  fell  with 
the  scabbard.  He  saw  Morgan  give  no  blow*,  but  as  soon  as 
Morhouse  had  struck,  to  ward  oft*  the  thrust,  he  threw  the  pis¬ 
tol  at  Morgan,  which  hit  his  head.  At  this  time,  Pow’ell  said 
he  was  running  up  to  prevent  mischief,  and  ran  from  five  to 
fifteen  steps,  when  he  heard  the  report  of  a  pistol,  cast  his 
eye  on  Morgan,  and  saw  that  he  was  hurt.  He  saw  the  spear 
in  Morgan’s  right  hand,  and  at  the  time  Morgan  was  shot,  he 
had  the  blade  part  of  the  cane  in  that  hand.  He  was  farther 
from  the  combatants  than  Dr.  Holmes  or  Mr.  Filhiol,  and 
was  nearly  in  a  line  with  the  combatants.  He  stated,  that 
the  throwing  of  the  pistol  by  Morhouse,  and  the  report  of 
the  other,  were  at  the  same  instant.  He  stated,  on  his  cross- 
examination,  that  he  was  rather  near  sighted. 

Three  or  four  witnesses  were  introduced  to  discredit  Pow¬ 
ell,  who  swore  positively,  that  from  a  general  knowledge  of 
his  character,  they  did  not  think  him  worthy  of  belief,  on 
oath. 

Colonel  Morhouse,  who  was  engaged  as  principal  in  the 
recounter,  and  who  was  indicted  at  the  same  term,  for  an 
assault  on  General  Morgan,  with  intent  to  kill,  was  examined 
as  a  witness.  He  stated  that  when  General  Morgan  and  Al¬ 
exander  were  passing  his  office  door,  he  politely  offered  Gen¬ 
eral  Morgan  a  communication  from  Captain  Hemkin,  and  told 
him  it  was  the  same  which  he  had  presented  him  the  day  be¬ 
fore,  and  which  he  had  refused  to  receive.  General  Morgan 
wheeled  round  very  abruptly,  and  stepped  forward,  staring 
him  full  in  the  face,  and  nearly  treading  on  his  toes.  The 
witness  stepped  back,  and  presented  him  the  note  which  he 
held  in  his  hand.  General  Morgan  observed  that  he  would 
receive  no  communication  from  him,  when  he  told  him  it  was 
a  communication  from  Captain  Hemkin.  He  replied,  the 

Colonel  thought,  with  an  oath,  that  “  he  would  be  d - d  if 

he  would  receive  any  communication  from  either  of  them.” 
He  was  asked  if  he  objected  to  Hemkin,  or  the  bearer.  He 
said,  to  both,  but  also  said  u  send  your  principal — I  will  see 


ROBERT  H.  STERLING. 


275 


him.”  He  declined  saying  who  he  meant  by  the  principal. 
The  witness  then  told  General  Morgan  he  should  expect  him  to 
assign  his  reasons  for  not  receiving  the  communication.  Mor¬ 
gan  made  some  equivocal  reply,  not  recollected,  as  that  he 
would  give  them  in  due  form,  or  when  he  pleased.  Morhouse 
repeated  that  he  should  expect  it,  and  Morgan  said,  u  You 
do,  hey;”  and,  thereupon,  passed  on  down  the  street.  When  he 
had  proceeded  between  eight  and  twelve  paces,  he  (Morhouse) 
turned,  with  his  back  towards  Morgan,  and  made  two  or  three 
steps  up  the  street,  remarking,  “  The  only  reason  you  can 
have,  (or  he  can  have,)  for  not  receiving  it,  is  that  you  are  a 
coward.”  His  voice  was  not  high,  and  he  thought  his  back 
was  towards  Morgan  when  he  said  it.  The  expression  was 
used,  to  he  heard  by  the  bystanders,  and  he  did  not  think 
his  voice  had  reached  General  Morgan.  Turning  to  go  into 
his  office,  he  saw  that  Morgan  had  turned,  or  was  in  the  act 
of  turning,  and  when  he  first  observed  him,  thought  he 
had  the  blade  in  his  right  hand,  and  the  scabbard  in  the  left. 
He  continued  to  advance  rapidly,  with  the  cane  in  that  posi¬ 
tion,  as  he  thought.  Morhouse  said  he  then  drew  a  small 
pistol  from  his  pocket  and  presented  it  at  Morgan,  aiming  to 
show  the  General  that  he  was  armed.  He  thought  Mor¬ 
gan  advanced  from  twenty-five  to  thirty  feet,  after  the  pistol 
was  presented.  He  had  no  expectation  he  would  continue 
to  advance,  but  when  he  had  approached  within  about  six  feet, 
perhaps  a  little  more,  his  pistol  snapped  or  flashed.  At  that 
instant  Morgan  rushed  on,  with  the  blade  in  the  right  hand, 
held  crosswise,  and  the  scabbard  in  the  left.  He  made  a 
side  thrust  with  the  spear,  which  passed  within  eighteen  inch-  • 
es  or  three  feet  of  Morhouse;  and  their  shoulders  came  in 
contact.  The  witness  raised  the  pistol,  the  same  way  he  held 
it  when  it  snapped,  and  struck  Morgan  over  the  head.  As 
he  struck,  Morgan  threw  up  the  sheath  and  either  the  sheath 
or  the  pistol  knocked  off*  Morgan’s  hat.  During  this  conflict 
their  bodies  were  not  more  than  a  foot  apart.  On  receiving 
the  blow,  Morgan  retrograded  two  short  steps,  and  he  (Mor¬ 
house)  stepped  back  about  the  same  distance,  to  get  out  of 
the  range  of  the  sword-cane;  as  Morgan  was  in  the  act  of 
advancing  with  the  spear,  and  Morhouse  finding  he  could  not 
reach  him,  turned  the  pistol  in  his  hand,  threw  it,  and  hit 
Morgan  on  the  head;  as  he  was  about  to  throw,  Morgan  bent 
down  and  threw  up  his  left  hand  to  ward  off  the  blow.  After 
he  was  hit  on  the  head  Morgan  recovered  his  position,  and  as 
he  threw  himself  up,  braced  his  body  back  one  step;  then 


276 


ROBERT  H.  STERLING. 


advanced  a  little,  bending  forward,  (about  two  paces)  with  the 
spear  presented,  and  pointed  at  Morhouse.  He  was  in  that 
position  when  the  pistol  was  fired  from  the  door  of  the  office. 
When  shot,  the  point  of  the  spear  was  within  eightee-n  inches 
or  three  feet  of  Morhouse’s  breast. 

One  witness,  Duval,  who  was  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
street,  stated  that  the  parties  had  separated,  and  he  thought 
the  fight  over,  when  the  pistol  was  fired  from  the  office.  He 
did  not  see  the  blade  of  the  sword-cane,  but  thought  that  Mor¬ 
gan  was  trying  to  draw  it  during  the  conflict.  Dr.  Angel 
testified  that  a  person  stepping  in  with  a  chair  might  have 
separated  the  combatants.  When  he  saw  the  blade  in  Mor¬ 
gan’s  hand,  he  was  neither  in  the  act  of  lunging  or  stabbing; 
he  was  not  in  a  position  to  do  so;  he  did  not  think  either  in 
danger  from  the  other.  After  the  flash  of  the  pistol  he  saw  the 
sword-cane  in  Morgan’s  hand  in  the  awkward  position  men¬ 
tioned. 

Mr.  Alexander,  who  was  in  company  with  General  Morgan, 
stated  positively  that  he  did  not  draw  his  sword-cane;  that  the 
scabbard  flew  off  in  striking  the  first  blow,  which  was  struck 
with  the  left  hand,  over  Colonel  Morhouse’s  right  shouJder; 
and  he  could  not  say  whether  it  hit  him  or  not.  When  Col¬ 
onel  Morhouse  threw  the  pistol,  Morgan  stooped,  half  bent, 
to  avoid  the  pistol.  While  he  was  in  that  posture,  Sterling 
shot  from  the  door  of  the  office;  the  muzzle  of  the  pistol  was 
within  from  three  to  six  feet  from  General  Morgan’s  back, 
when  it  was  discharged;  and  Morgan  could  not  have  seen 
who  shot  him. 

The  sling  was  on  his  neck  when  he  was  killed,  and  he  was 
buried  with  the  bandage  on  his  wrist.  Such  was  the  sub¬ 
stance  of  the  evidence.  The  charge  of  Judge  Overton,  who 
presided,  was  very  positive.  He  told  the  jury,  that  a  third 
person,  interfering  in  a  sudden  quarrel  or  affray,  without  giv¬ 
ing  notice  of  his  intention,  and  taking  sides  with  one  of  the 
parties,  and  killing  the  other,  without  an  absolute  necessity 
to  save  life,  was  guilty  of  either  murder  or  manslaughter, 
according  as  circumstances  show  malice  or  otherwise. 

The  jury  retired,  and  in  about  two  hours  returned  a  ver¬ 
dict  of  Not  Guilty. 

This  murder  seems  to  us  to  have  been  clearly  proved. 
Morhouse  engaged  in  a  personal  recounter  with  General  Mor¬ 
gan  in  the  highway,  near  his  own  office.  Sterling,  seeing 
the  affray,  but  without  having  received  any  personal  provo¬ 
cation,  gave  Morgan  a  deadly  wound  from  a  place  of  ambush 


THE  HARPES. 


277 


He  could  not  plead  that  the  life  or  limbs  of  his  relaUve  were 
in  any  such  danger  as  to  require  his  interference.  Supposii  ig 
his  interposition  to  have  been  necessary,  he  was  by  no  means 
justifiable  in  killing  Morgan.  If  this  trial  be  an  example  of 
the  way  in  which  justice  is  administered  in  Louisiana,  we 
desire  to  be  thankful  that  we  do  not  reside  there. 


THE  HARPES. 

The  following  strange  but  authentic  account  of  the  Harpes 
is  taken  from  “  Letters  from  the  West,”  by  Judge  Hall.  The 
author’s  name  is  a  sufficient  voucher  for  its  truth.  Any  at¬ 
tempt  to  improve  the  article  would  be  worse  than  losing 
time,  and  we  therefore  give  Mr.  Hall’s  language  verbatim. 

Many  years  ago,  two  men,  named  Harpe,  appeared  in 
Kentucky,  spreading  death  and  terror  wherever  they  went. 
Little  else  was  known  of  them  but  that  they  passed  for  bro¬ 
thers,  and  came  from  the  borders  of  Virginia.  They  had 
three  women  with  them,  who  were  treated  as  their  wives,  and 
several  children,  with  whom  they  traversed  the  mountainous 
and  thinly  settled  parts  of  Virginia  into  Kentucky,  marking 
their  course  with  blood.  Their  history  is  wonderful,  as  well 
from  the  number  and  variety,  as  the  incredible  atrocity  of  their 
adventures;  and  as  it  has  never  yet  appeared  in  print,  I  shall 
compress  within  this  letter  a  few  of  its  most  prominent  facts. 

In  the  autumn  of  the  year  1799,  a  young  gentleman,  named 
Langford,  of  a  respectable  family  in  Mecklenburgh  county, 
Virginia,  set  out  from  this  state  for  Kentucky,  with  the  in¬ 
tention  of  passing  through  the  Wilderness ,  as  it  was  then  called, 
by  the  route  generally  known  as  Boon's  Trace.  On  reaching 
the  vicinity  of  the  wilderness,  a  mountainous  and  uninhabit¬ 
ed  tract,  which  at  that  time  separated  the  settled  parts  of 
Kentucky  from  those  of  Virginia,  he  stopped  to  breakfast  at 
a  public  house  near  Big  Rock-Castle  River.  Travellers  of 
this  description — any  other  indeed  than  hardy  woodsmen — 
were  unwilling  to  pass  singly  through  this  lonely  region;  and 
they  generally  waited  on  its  confines  for  others,  and  travelled 
through  in  parties.  Mr.  Langford,  either  not  dreading 
danger,  or  not  choosing  to  delay,  determined  to  proceed  alone. 


278 


THE  HARPES. 


While  breakfast  was  preparing,  the  Harpes  and  their  women 
came  up.  Their  appearance  denoted  poverty,  with  but  little 
regard  to  cleanliness;  two  very  indifferent  horses,  with  some 
bags  swung  across  them,  and  a  rifle  gun  or  two,  composed 
nearly  their  whole  equipage.  Squalid  and  miserable,  they 
seemed  objects  of  pity  rather  than  of  fear,  and  their  fero¬ 
cious  glances  were  attributed  more  to  hunger  than  to  guilty 
passion.  They  were  entire  strangers  in  that  neighbourhood, 
and  like  Mr.  Langford,  were  about  to  cross  the  Wilderness. 
When  breakfast  was  served  up,  the  landlord,  as  was  custom¬ 
ary  at  such  places,  in  those  times,  invited  all  the  persons  who 
were  assembled  in  the  common,  perhaps  the  only  roopi  of  his 
little  inn,  to  sit  down;  but  the  Harpes  declined,  alleging  their 
want  of  money  as  the  reason.  Langford,  who  was  of  a  lively, 
generous  disposition,  on  hearing  this,  invited  them  to  partake 
of  the  meal  at  his  expense;  they  accepted  the  invitation,  and 
eat  voraciously.  When  they  had  thus  refreshed  themselves, 
and  were  about  to  renew  their  journey  Mr.  Langford  called 
for  the  bill,  and  in  the  act  of  discharging  it  imprudently  dis¬ 
played  a  handful  of  silver.  They  then  set  out  together. 

A  few  days  after,  some  men  who  were  conducting  a  drove 
of  cattle  to  Virginia,  by  the  same  road  which  had  been 
travelled  by  Mr.  Langford  and  the  Harpes,  had  arrived  within 
a  few  miles  of  Big  Rock-Castle  River,  when  their  cattle  took 
fright,  and^,  quitting  the  road,  rushed  down  a  hill  into  the  woods. 
In  collecting  them,  the  drovers  discovered  the  dead  body  of 
a  man  concealed  behind  a  log,  and  covered  with  brush  and 
leaves.  It  was  now  evident  that,  the  cattle  had  been  alarmed 
by  the  smell  of  blood  in  the  road,  and  as  the  body  exhibited 
marks  of  violence,  it  was  at  once  suspected  that  a  murder  had 
been  perpetrated  but  recently.  The  corpse  was  taken  to  the 
same  house  where  the  Harpes  had  breakfasted,  and  recog¬ 
nised  to  be  that  of  Mr.  Langford,  whose  name  was  marked 
upon  several  parts  of  his  dress.  Suspicion  fell  upon  the 
Harpes,  who  were  pursued  and  apprehended  near  the  Crab 
Orchard.  They  were  taken  to  Stanford,  the  seat  of  justice 
for  Lincoln  county,  where  they  were  examined  and  committed 
by  an  inquiring  court,  sent  to  Danville  for  safe  keeping,  and 
probably  for  trial,  a|s  the  system  of  district  courts  was  then  in 
operation  in  Kentucky.  Previous  to  the  time  of  trial,  they 
made  their  escape,  and  proceeded  to  Henderson  county,  which 
at  that  time  was  just  beginning  to  be  settled. 

Here  they  soon  acquired  a  dreadful  celebrity.  Neither 
avarice,  want,  nor  any  of  the  usual  inducements  to  the  com- 


THE  HARPES. 


i 


279 


mission  of  crime,  seemed  to  govern  their  conduct.  A  savage 
thirst  for  blood — a  deep  rooted  malignity  against  human 
nature,  could  a  one  be  discovered  in  their  actions.  They 
murdered  every  defenceless  being  who  fell  in  their  way,  with¬ 
out  distinction  of  age,  sex,  or  color.  In  the  night  they  stole 
secretly  to  the  cabin,  slaughtered  its  inhabitants,  and  burned 
their  dwelling — while  the  farmer  who  left  his  house  by  day, 
returned  to  witness  the  dying  agonies  of  his  wife  and  children, 
and  the  conflagration  of  his  possessions.  Plunder  was  not 
their  object:  travellers  they  robbed  and  murdered,  but  from 
the  inhabitants  they  took  only  what  would  have  been  freely 
given  to  them,  and  no  more  than  was  immediately  necessary 
to  supply  the  wants  of  nature;  they  destroyed  without  having 
suffered  injury,  and  without  the  prospect  of  gain.  A  negro 
boy,  riding  to  a  mill,  with  a  bag  of  corn,  was  seized  by  them, 
and  his  brains  dashed  out  against  a  tree;  but  the  horse  which 
he  rode  and  the  grain  were  left  unmolested.  Females,  children, 
and  servants,  no  longer  dared  to  stir  abroad;  unarmed  men 
feared  to  encounter  a  Harpe;  and  the  solitary  hunter,  as  he 
trod  the  forest,  looked  around  him  with  a  watchful  eye,  and 
when  he  saw  a  stranger,  picked  his  flint  and  stood  on  the 
defensive. 

It  seems  incredible  that  such  atrocities  could  have  been 
often  repeated  in  a  country  famed  for  the  hardihood  and 
gallantry  of  its  people;  in  Kentucky,  the  cradle  of  courage, 
and  the  nurse  of  warriors.  But  that  part  of  Kentucky  which 
was  the  scene  of  these  barbarities  was  then  almost  a  wilder¬ 
ness;  and  the  vigilance  of  the  Harpes  for  a  time  ensured  im¬ 
punity.  The  spoils  of  their  dreadful  warfare  furnished  them 
with  the  means  of  violence  and  of  escape.  Mounted  on  fine 
horses,  they  plunged  into  the  forest,  eluded  pursuit  by  fre¬ 
quently  changing  their  course,  and  appeared,  unexpectedly, 
to  perpetrate  new  enormities,  at  points  distant  from  those 
where  they  were  supposed  to  lurk.  On  these  occasions,  they 
often  left  their  wives  and  children  behind  them;  and  it  is  a 
fact  honorable  to  the  community,  that  vengeance  for  these 
bloody  deeds  was  not  wreaked  on  the  helpless,  but  in  some 
degree  guilty,  companions  of  the  perpetrators.  Justice,  how¬ 
ever,  wr.s  not  long  delayed. 

A  frontier  is  often  the  retreat  of  loose  individuals,  who,  if 
not  familiar  with  crime,  have  very  blunt  perceptions  of  virtue. 
The  geiuine  woodsmen,  the  real  pioneer,  are  independent, 
brave,  and  upright;  but  as  the  jackal  pursues  the  lion  to 
devour  his  leavings,  the  footsteps  of  the  sturdy  hunter  are 


280 


THE  HARPES. 


closely  pursued  by  miscreants  destitute  of  his  noble  qualities. 
These  are  the  poorest  and  the  idlest  of  the  human  race — 
averse  to  labor,  and  impatient  of  the  restraints  of  law 
and  the  courtesies  of  civilized  society.  Without  the  ardor, 
the  activity,  the  love  of  sport,  and  patience  of  fatigue,  which 
distinguish  the  bold  backwoodsman,  these  are  doomed  to  the 
forest  by  sheer  laziness,  and  hunt  for  a  bare  subsistence;  they 
are  the  u  cankers  of  a  calm  world  and  a  long  peace,”  the 
helpless  nobodies ,  who,  in  a  country  where  none  starve  and  few 
beg,  sleep  until  hunger  pinches,  then  stroll  into  the  woods  for 
a  meal,  and  return  to  their  slumber.  Frequently  they  are  as 
harmless  as  the  wart  upon  a  man’s  nose,  and  as  unsightly;  but 
they  are  sometimes  mere  wax  in  the  hands  of  the  designing, 
and  become  the  accessories  of  that  guilt  which  they  have  not 
the  courage  or  the  industry  to  perpetrate.  With  such  men 
the  Harpes  are  supposed  to  have  sometimes  lurked.  None 
are  known  to  have  participated  in  their  deeds  of  blood,  nor 
suspected  of  sharing  their  counsels;  but  they  sometimes  crept 
to  the  miserable  cabins  of  those  who  feared  or  were  not 
inclined  to  betray  them. 

Two  travellers  came  one  night  to  the  house  of  a  man  named 
Stegal,  and,  for  want  of  better  lodgings,  claimed  under  his 
little  roof  that  hospitality  which  in  a  new  country  is  found  at 
every  habitation.  Shortly  after,  the  Harpes  arrived.  It  was 
not,  it  seems,  their  first  visit;  for  Mrs.  Stegal  had  received 
instructions  from  them,  which  she  dared  not  disobey,  never  to 
address  them  by  their  real  names  in  the  presence  of  third 
persons.  On  this  occasion  they  contrived  to  inform  her  that 
they  intended  to  personate  methodist  preachers ,  and  ordered 
her  to  arrange  matters  so  that  one  of  them  should  sleep  with 
each  of  the  strangers,  whom  they  intended  to  murder.  Stegal 
was  absent,  and  the  woman  was  obliged  to  obey.  The 
strangers  were  completely  deceived  as  to  the  character  of  the 
newly  arrived  guests;  and  when  it  was  announced  that  the 
house  contained  but  two  beds,  they  cheerfully  assented  to 
the  proposed  arrangement:  one  crept  into  a  bed  on  the  lower 
floor  with  one  ruffian,  while  the  other  retired  to  the  loft  with 
another.  Both  the  strangers  became  their  victims;  but  these 
bloody  ruffians,  who  seemed  neither  to  feel  shame,  nor  dread 
punishment,  determined  to  leave  behind  them  no  evidence  of 
their  crime,  and  consummated  the  foul  tragedy  by  murdering 
their  hostess  and  setting  fire  to  the  dwelling. 

From  this  scene  of  arson,  robbery,  and  murder,  the  per¬ 
petrators  fled  precipitately,  favored  by  a  heavy  fall  of  rain, 


THE  HARPES. 


281 


which,  as  they  believed,  effaced  their  footsteps.  They  did  not 
cease  their  flight  until  late  the  ensuing  day,  when  they  halted 
at  a  spot  which  they  supposed  to  be  far  from  any  human 
habitation.  Here  they  kindled  a  fire,  and  were  drying  their 
clothes,  when  an  emigrant,  who  had  pitched  his  tent  hard  by, 
strolled  towards  their  camp.  He  was  in  search  of  his  horses, 
which  had  strayed,  and  civilly  asked  if  they  had  seen  them. 
This  unsuspecting  woodsman  they  slew,  and  continued  their 
retreat. 

In  the  meanwhile,  the  outrages  of  these  murderers  had  not 
escaped  notice,  nor  were  they  tamely  submitted  to.  The 
Governor  of  Kentucky  had  offered  a  reward  for  their  heads, 
and  parties  of  volunteers  had  pursued  them;  they  had  been  so 
fortunate  as  to  escape  punishment  by  their  cunning,  but  had 
not  the  prudence  to  desist,  or  to  fly  the  country. 

A  man,  named  Leiper,  in  revenge  for  the  murder  of  Mrs. 
Stegal,  raised  a  party,  pursued,  and  discovered  the  assassins, 
on  the  day  succeeding  that  atrocious  deed.  They  came  so 
suddenly  upon- the  Harpes  that  they  had  only  time  to  fly  in 
different  directions.  Accident  aided  the  pursuers.  One  of 
the  Harpes  was  a  large,  and  the  other  a  small  man;  the  first 
usually  rode  a  strong,  powerful  horse,  the  other  a  fleet,  but 
much  smaller  animal,  and  in  the  hurry  of  flight  they  had  ex¬ 
changed  horses.  The  chase  was  long  and  hot:  the  smaller 
Harpe  escaped  unnoticed;  but  the  other,  who  was  kept  in 
view,  spurred  on  the  noble  animal  he  rode,  and  which,  al¬ 
ready  jaded,  began  to  fail  at  the  end  of  five  or  six  miles. 
Still  the  miscreant  pressed  forward;  for  although  none  of  his 
pursuers  were  near  but  Leiper,  who  had  outridden  his  com¬ 
panions,  he  was  not  willing  to  risk  a  combat  with  a  man  as 
strong  and  perhaps  bolder  than  himself,  who  was  animated 
with  a  noble  spirit  of  indignation  against  a  shocking  and  un¬ 
manly  outrage.  Leiper  was  mounted  upon  a  horse  of  cele¬ 
brated  powers,  which  he  had  borrowed  from  a  neighbour  for 
this  occasion.  At  the  beginning  of  the  chase,  he  had  pressed 
his  charger  to  the  height  of  his  speed,  carefully  keeping  on 
the  track  of  Harpe,  of  whom  he  sometimes  caught  a  glimpse 
as  he  ascended  the  hills,  and  again  lost  sight  in  the  valleys 
and  the  brush.  But  as  he  gained  on  the  foe,  and  became 
sure  of  his  victim,  he  slackened  his  pace,  cocked  his  rifle,  and 
deliberately  pursued,  sometimes  calling  upon  the  outlaw  to 
surrender.  At  length,  in  leaping  a  ravine,  Harpe’s  horse 
sprained  a  limb,  and  Leiper  overtook  him.  Both  were  armed 
with  rifles.  Leiper  fired,  and  woundted  Harpe  through  the 


282 


THE  HARPES. 


body;  the  latter,  turning  in  his  seat,  levelled  his  piece,  which 
missed  fire,  and  he  dashed  it  to  the  ground,  swearing  it  was 
the  first  time  it  had  ever  deceived  him.  He  then  drew  a 
tomahawk,  and  waited  the  approach  of  Leiper,  who,  nothing 
daunted,  unsheathed  his  long  hunting  knife  and  rushed  upon 
his  desperate  foe,  grappled  with  him,  hurled  him  to  the  ground, 
and  wrested  his  only  remaining  weapon  from  his  grasp.  The 
prostrate  wretch — exhausted  with  the  loss  of  blood,  conquered, 
but  unsubdued  in  spirit — now  lay  passive  at  the  feet  of  his 
adversary.  Expecting  every  moment  the  arrival  of  the  rest 
of  his  pursuers,  he  inquired  if  Stegal  was  of  the  party,  and 
being  answered  in  the  affirmative,  he  exclaimed,  u  Then  I  am 
a  dead  man.” 

“  That  would  make  no  difference,”  replied  Leiper,  calmly; 
u  you  must  die  at  any  rate.  I  do  not  wish  to  kill  you  myself, 
but  if  nobody  else  will  do  it,  I  must.”  Leiper  was  a  humane 
man,  easy,  slow  spoken,  and  not  quickly  excited,  but  a  tho¬ 
rough  soldier  when  roused.  Without  insulting  the  expiring 
criminal,  he  questioned  him  as  to  the  motives  of  his  late 
atrocities.  The  murderer  attempted  not  to  palliate  or  deny 
them,  and  confessed  that  he  had  been  actuated  by  no  induce¬ 
ment  but  a  settled  hatred  of  his  species,  whom  he  had  sworn 
to  destroy  without  distinction,  in  retaliation  for  some  fancied 
injury.  He*  expressed  no  regret  for  any  of  his  bloody  deeds, 
except  that  which  he  confessed  he  had  perpetrated  upon  one 
of  his  own  children.  u  It  cried,”  said  he,  “  and  I  killed  it:  I  had 
always  told  the  women,  I  would  have  no  crying  about  me.” 
He  acknowledged  that  he  had  amassed  large  sums  of  money, 
and  described  the  places  of  concealment;  but  as  ru  ne  was 
ever  discovered,  it  is  presumed  he  did  not  declare  the  truth. 
Leiper  had  fired  several  times  at  Harpe  during  the  chase,  and 
wounded  him;  and  when  the  latter  was  asked  why,  when  he 
found  Leiper  pursuing  him  alone,  he  did  not  dismount  and 
take  to  a  tree ,  from  behind  which  he  could  inevitably  have  shot 
him  as  he  approached,  he  replied  that  he  had  supposed  there 
was  not  a  horse  in  the  country  equal  to  the  one  which  he 
rode,  and  that  he  was  confident  of  making  his  escape.  He 
thought  also  that  the  pursuit  would  be  less  eager,  so  long  as 
he  abstained  from  shedding  the  blood  of  any  of  his  pursuers. 
On  the  arrival  of  the  rest  of  the  party,  the  wretch  was  des¬ 
patched,  and  he  died  as  he  had  lived,  in  remorseless  guilt.  It 
is  said,  however,  that  he  was  about  to  make  some  disclosure 
and  had  commenced  in  a  tone  of  more  sincerity  than  he  had 
before  evinced,  when  Stegal  advanced  and  severed  his  head 


THE  HARPES. 


283 


from  his  body.  This  bloody  trophy  they  carried  to  the  near¬ 
est  magistiate,  a  Mr.  Newman,  before  whom  it  was  proved 
to  be  the  head  of  Micajah  Harpe;  they  then  placed  it  in  the 
fork  of  a  tree,  where  it  long  remained  a  revolting  object  of 
horror.  The  spot  which  is  near  the  Highland  Lick,  in  Union 
(then  Henderson)  county,  is  still  called  Harpers  Head ,  and 
a  public  road  which  passes  it,  is  called  the  Harpe’s  Head 
Road. 

The  other  Harpe  made  his  way  to  the  neighbourhood  of 
Natchez,  where  he  join  :d  a  gang  of  robbers,  headed  by  a 
man  named  Meason,  whose  villanies  were  so  notorious  that 
a  reward  was  offered  for  his  head.  At  that  period,  vast  re¬ 
gions  along  the  shores  of  the  Ohio  and  Mississippi  were  still 
unsettled,  through  which  boats  navigating  those  rivers  must 
necessarily  pass;  and  the  traders  who,  after  selling  their 
cargoes  at  New  Orleans,  attempted  to  return  by  land,  had  to 
cross  immense  wildernesses,  totally  destitute  of  inhabit¬ 
ants.  Meason,  who  was  a  man  rather  above  the  ordinary 
stamp,  infested  these  deserts,  seldom  committing  murder,  but 
robbing  all  who  fell  in  his  way.  Sometimes  he  plundered 
the  descending  boats;  but  more  frequently  he  allowed  these  to 
pass,  preferring  to  rob  their  owners  of  their  money  as  they 
returned,  pleasantly  observing,  that  u  those  people  were  taking 
produce  to  market  for  him.”  Harpe  took  an  opportunity, 
when  the  rest  of  his  companions  were  absent,  to  slay  Meason, 
and  putting  his  head  in  a  bag,  carried  it  to  Natchez,  and 
claimed  the  reward.  The  claim  was  admitted;  the  head  of 
Meason  was  recognised ;  but  so  also  was  the  face  of  Harpe,  who 
was  arrested,  condemned,  and  executed. 

In  collecting  oral  testimony  of  events  long  past,  a  consid 
erable  variety  will  often  be  found  in  the  statements  of  the  per¬ 
sons  conversant  with  the  circumstances.  In  this  case,  I  have 
found  none,  except  as  the  fact  of  the  two  Harpes  having  ex¬ 
changed  horses.  A  day  or  two  before  the  fatal  catastro¬ 
phe  which  ended  their  career  in  Kentucky,  they  had  murder¬ 
ed  a  gentleman  named  Love,  and  had  taken  his  horse,  a 
remarkably  fine  animal,  which  big  Harpe  undoubtedly  rode 
when  he  was  overtaken.  It  is  said  that  little  Harpe  escaped 
on  foot,  and  not  on  his  brother’s  horse.  Many  of  these  facts 
were  disclosed  by  the  latter,  while  under  sentence  of  death. 

After  Harpe’s  death  the  women  came  in  and  claimed  pro¬ 
tection.  Two  of  them  were  the  wives  of  the  larger  Harpe, 
the  other,  of  his  brother.  The  latter  wras  a  decent  female, 
of  delicate,  prepossessing  appearance,  who  stated  that  she 


284 


J.  0.  BEAUCHAMP. 


had  mariied  her  husband  without  any  knowledge  of  his  real 
character,  shortly  before  they  set  out  for  the  west;  that  she 
was  so  much  shocked  at  the  first  murder  they  committed, 
that  she  attempted  to  escape  from  them,  but  was  prevented, 
and  that  she  had  since  made  similar  attempts.  She  imme¬ 
diately  wrote  to  her  father  in  Virginia,  who  came  for  her, 
and  took  her  home.  The  other  women  were  in  no  way  re¬ 
markable.  They  remained  in  Muhlenburgh  county. 

These  horrid  events  will  sound  like  fiction  to  your  ears, 
when  told  as  having  happened  in  any  part  of  the  United 
States,  so  foreign  are  they  from  the  generosity  of  the  Ameri¬ 
can  character,  the  happy  security  of  our  institutions,  and  the 
moral  habits  of  our  people.  But  it  is  to  be  recollected  that 
they  happened  twenty-seven  years  ago,  in  frontier  settlements, 
far  distant  from  the  civilized  parts  of  our  country.  The 
principal  scene  of  Harpe’s  atrocities,  and  of  his  death,  was 
in  that  part  of  Kentucky  which  lies  south  of  Green  River,  a 
vast  wilderness,  then  known  by  the  general  name  of  the 
Green  River  Country ,  and  containing  a  few  small  and  thinly 
scattered  settlements — the  more  dense  population  of  that 
state  being  at  that  time  confined  to  its  northern  and  eastern 
parts.  The  Indians  still  possessed  the  country  to  the  south 
and  west.  That  enormities  should  sometimes  have  been 
practised  at  these  distant  spots,  cannot  be  matter  of  surprise; 
the  only  wonder  is  that  they  were  so  few.  The  first  settlers 
were  a  hardy  and  an  honest  people;  but  they  were  too  few  in 
number,  and  too  widely  spread,  to  be  able  to  create  or  enforce 
wholesome  civil  restraints.  Desperadoes,  flying  from  justice, 
or  seeking  a  secure  theatre  for  the  perpetration  of  crime, 
might  frequently  escape  discovery,  and  as  often  elude  or 
openly  defy  the  arm  of  justice. 


JEROBOAM  O.  BEAUCHAMP. 

The  fate  of  this  man  may  serve  to  teach  a  respect  for  the 
laws  of  honor,  for  revenging  the  violation  of  which  he  gave 
hi?  life.  It  may  teach  such  as  triumph  in  the  abuse  of  female 
innocence,  that  even  though  the  victim  may  have  no  parent 
or  bi other,  some  other  arm  may  be  nerved  to  vengeance.  It 


J.  0.  BEAUCHAMP. 


285 


may  show  the  danger  of  calumny  and  warn  the  young  and 
violent  not  to  take  the  laws  into  their  own  hands.  It  speaks 
volumes  against  seduction,  slander,  promise-breaking  and 
suicide. 

Jeroboam  0.  Beauchamp  was  the  second  son  of  a  very 
worthy  farmer  in  Kentucky.  The  early  part  of  his  education 
was  pious  and  salutary,  for  his  parents  were  professors  of  re¬ 
ligion.  He  was  volatile,  idle  and  eccentric,  but  showed  such 
indications  of  genius  as  made  him  the  pride  and  favorite  of 
his  father,  who  sent  him  to  the  best  schools  in  the  country, 
and  made  great  personal  sacrifices  to  give  him  a  liberal  edu¬ 
cation.  Young  Beauchamp  had  the  good  fortune  to  be 
placed  under  the  tuition  of  Doctor  Benjamin  Thurston,  a  man 
of  worth,  learning,  and  ability,  who,  by  the  time  he  reached 
his  sixteenth  year,  had  given  him  a  tolerable  English  educa¬ 
tion,  a  knowledge  of  the  Latin  tongue,  and  a  respectable 
acquaintance  with  many  branches  of  science.  Young  Beau¬ 
champ  now  perceiving  that  his  father  had  much  difficulty  to 
provide  for  a  large  rising  family,  resolved  to  depend  for  the 
future  on  his  own  exertions.  To  raise  money  to  defray  the 
farther  expenses  of  his  education  he  betook  himself  to  shop 
keeping,  but  finding  it  left  no  time  for  his  studies  he  ob¬ 
tained  recommendations  from  Dr.  Thurston  and  others,  and 
obtained  the  preceptorship  of  a  school.  When  he  had  earned 
a  little  money  in  this  way,  he  gave  up  his  employment  and 
resumed  his  studies.  Shortly  after,  he  was  invited  by  his 
former  friend  and  benefactor  Dr.  Thurston  into  his  school, 
where  he  remained,  as  an  usher,  till  he  was  eighteen  years  old, 
by  which  he  had  completed  his  education  as  far  as  was 
necessary  preparatory  to  the  study  of  the  law.  He  then 
began  to  attend  the  courts  at  Glasgow  and  Bowling  Green. 

About  this  time  public  indignation  was  excited  to  the  ut¬ 
most  against  Solomon  P.  Sharp,  an  attorney  of  high  reputa¬ 
tion  and  a  colonel  of  militia.  The  act  which  incurred  the 
general  disapprobation  was  the  seduction  of  Miss  Ann  Cooke, 
accompanied  with  circumstances  of  peculiar  atrocity.  She 
belonged  to  one  of  the  best  and  most  wealthy  families  in 
Kentucky  and  was  herself  ^celebrated  for  beauty,  talents,  and 
accomplishments.  What  added  a  darker  shade  to  Sharp’s 
wickedness  was,  that  he  owed  his  success  in  life  to  the  patron¬ 
age  of  her  family,  which  had  been  extended  to  him  when  he 
was  young  and  poor.  But  when  the  case  was  reversed,  when 
the  Cookes  had  met  with  reverses,  and  he  had  become  rich 
and  powerful,  he  requited  their  benefits  by  seducing  their 

13# 


J.  0.  BEAUCHAMP. 


286 

* 

daughter,  whose  strong  mind  was  not  proof  to  his  talents  and 
promises.  The  offspring  of  his  guilt  did  not  long  survive  its 
birth;  whereby  hangs  a  tale.  By  a  strange  succession  of 
calamities  Miss  Cooke’s  father  brethren  and  friends  had  de¬ 
scended  successively  to  the  grave,  and  she  now  retired  with 
her  aged  mother,  her  only  surviving  near  relation,  to  a  small 
farm,  near  Beauchamp’s  father’s  farm.  Here  she  secluded 
herself  from  the  world,  refusing  to  be  comforted,  and  hiding 
herself  from  society. 

Shortly  after,  Colonel  Sharp  paid  his  addresses  to  a  Miss 
Scott,  and  to  remove  her  scruples  touching  his  connexion  with 
Ann  Cooke,  forged  a  certificate  stating  that  the  child  of  his 
sins  was  a  mulatto,  thus  degrading  his  victim  still  farther. 
He  then  married  Miss  Scott. 

Beauchamp  was  well  acquainted  with  Sharp,  who  had  evinc¬ 
ed  much  good  will  toward  him.  He  had  also  heard  much 
of  the  beauty  and  accomplishments  of  Miss  Cooke.  When, 
therefore,  the  transactions  we  have  briefly  related  became  the 
common  topic  of  discourse,  his  indignation  at  Sharp’s  conduct 
was  vehemently  kindled.  A  gentleman  who  lodged  in  the 
same  apartment  with  him,  and  whom  he  regarded  as  his  near¬ 
est  friend,  had  formerly  paid  court  to  Miss  Cooke,  and  he 
now  spoke  of  her  in  such  exalted  terms,  and  with  so  much 
contempt  and  abhorrence  of  Sharp  that  he  inspirediBeauchamp 
with  his  own  feelings.  The  latter  had  been  delighted  with 
Sharp’s  eloquence  and  had  sought  his  acquaintance,  nay,  had 
expressed  a  desire  to  study  the  law  under  his  direction;  but 
now  he  treated  him  very  coldly.  On  one  occasion,  Sharp  asked 
Beauchamp  if  he  intended  to  begin  the  study  of  the  law.  Our 
hero  replied  that  he  did,  in  a  few  months.  Sharp  then  observed 
that  he  had  heard  he  intended  to  come  to  Bowling  Green  to 
study  with  him.  Beauchamp  sternly  replied  that  he  did  indeed 
intend  to  study  at  Bowling  Green,  but  not  with  him.  Though 
something  surprised  at  his  incivility  Sharp  complimented  him 
with  an  augury  of  his  success,  and  said  it  would  give  him 
pleasure  to  facilitate  his  progress  in  any  way. 

With  these  prepossessions  for  Miss  Cooke  and  against  Sharp 
Beauchamp  went  to  his  father’s  house  in  Simpson  county  for 
the  benefit  of  his  health,  which  he  had  impaired  by  hard 
study.  Here  he  learned  that  Miss  Cooke  dwelt  in  the  neigh¬ 
bourhood  with  her  aged  mother  and  a  few  servants.  He  im¬ 
mediately  resolved  to  become  acquainted  with  one  of  whom 
he  had  heard  so  much,  but  was  at  first  deterred  from  the 
attempt  by  hearing  that  she  refused  to  make  any  acquaintances 


J.  0.  BEAUCHAMP. 


or  receive  any  company.  However,  the  more  he  heard  of 
her  the  stronger  his  curiosity  grew,  and  at  last  he  ventured 
to  her  house.  As  he  approached  he  saw  her  through  a 
window,  but  on  his  arrival  she  retired.  On  his  entrance 
he  was  received  by  the  servants,  who  set  refreshments  before 
him,  but  the  object  of  his  visit  declined  to  see  him.  He  sent 
a  second  message  which  brought  her  into  the  apartment,  and 
he  introduced  himself.  He  told  her  that  though  he  knew  she 
was  not  inclined  to  receive  visits,  he  had  resolved  to  hazard 
the  mortification  of  a  denial.  His  strong  desire  to  be  ac¬ 
quainted  with  her,  sprung  he  said,  from  the  conversation  of 
his  friend  before  mentioned,  who  had  spoken  very  highly  of 
her.  He  found  it  hard,  he  continued,  to  pass  away  the  time 
in  retirement  without  books  or,  society,  and  hoped  she  would 
grant  him  the  use  of  her  library,  even  though  she  should 
decline  his  acquaintance  and  the  visits  of  his  sisters,  who 
wished  to  call  on  her. 

She  replied  that  she  had  left  Bowling  Green  purposely  to 
avoid  society,  and  never  would  again  mingle  with  the  world. 
She  was  therefore  unwilling  to  receive  visits,  but  her  library 
was  perfectly  at  his  service.  She  then  showed  him  her  books 
and  they  spent  the  afternoon  together,  reading,  and  convers¬ 
ing  on  what  they  read. 

Toward  night,  when  about  to  take  leave,  Beauchamp  select¬ 
ed  abook  to  take  home,  though  Miss  Cooke  would  have  had 
him  take  several.  He  said  he  would  read  the  one  he  had 
selected  and  then  return  for  more.  She  smiled,  on  perceiv¬ 
ing  that  his  design  was  merely  to  have  a  pretext  for  repeating 
his  visit.  However  he  took  but  one  book,  and  scarcely 
delayed  long  enough  to  read  that  before  he  returned  for 
another.  Pity,  it  is  said,  melts  the.  mind  to  love,  and  so 
was  seen  in  this  case.  The  enthusiastic  youth  had  seen  Miss 
Cooke  but  once,  and  had  lost  his  heart  and  his  reason  wholly. 
She  was  a  fascinating  woman  and  •  he  was  a  mere  boy, 
little  acquainted  with  the  world,  and  of  a  romantic  disposition. 
Therefore,  there  is  little  matter  of  astonishment  in  the  fact. 
Perhaps,  too,  she  exerted  herself  to  gain  him  to  her  purposes, 
but  if  that  was  her  first  intention  it  is  certain  that  her  attach¬ 
ment  soon  became  as  strong  as  his.  Indeed,  her  heart  must 
have  been  hard  indeed  had  it  withstood  the  proofs  of  his  de¬ 
votion. 

On  his  return  Miss  Cooke  refused  to  see  him,  but  caused 
him  to  be  conducted  into  her  library,  where  he  read  for  some 
hours  alone,  and  finally  departed  without  seeing  her.  He 


288 


J.  0.  BEAUCHAMP. 


met  the  same  reception  on  a  third  visit,  and  this  treatment 
very  much  inflamed  him,  as,  perhaps,  she  intended  it  should. 
She  now  haunted  his  mind  in  a  way  that  every  man  older  than 
twenty  will  readily  comprehend,  and  he  went  a  fourth  time  to 
her  house,  determined  not  to  be  repulsed. 

After  reading  some  hours  he  sent  for  her,  alleging  some 
especial  reason  for  his  conduct.  She  came,  and  he  re¬ 
monstrated  long  and  urgently  against  her  refusal  to  receive 
him.  He  said  that  she  and  not  her  books  brought  him  to  the 
house,  and  employed  all  his  rhetoric  to  persuade  her  to  relax 
in  her  resolution  and  suffer  his  sisters  to  be  introduced  to  her. 
She  refused  firmly,  giving  him  such  reasons  why  his  sisters 
ought  not  to  see  her  as  his  own  reason  would  have  suggested, 
had  he  not  been  led  astray  by  passion.  She  could  never  be 
happy  in  society  again  she  said,  and  as  she  could  not  return 
the  visits  of  his  sisters,  they  would  not  wish  to  see  her.  As 
to  his  own  visits,  she  would  admit  them  when  the  use  of  her 
library  was  their  object. 

The  next  day  Beauchamp  ventured  to  take  his  sisters  with 
him,  her  refusal  to  see  them  notwithstanding.  She  received 
and  entertained  them  politely,  but  refused  to  return  their  visit, 
nor  did  she  ask  them  to  come  again.  After  this  Beauchamp 
visited  her  very  often,  and  always  insisted  on  seeing  her,  so 
that  at  last  by  his  importunate  .perseverance,  he  prevailed  on 
her  to  receive  him  as  a  friend  and  acquaintance.  She  con¬ 
sented  to  meet  and  spend  part  of  the  time  of  his  stay  in 
the  same  room  with  him,  after  which  she  would  retire  to 
read,  design,  or  other  amusements.  However,  as  his  language 
to  her  began  to  grow  warm,  she  imposed  on  him  as  an  indispen¬ 
sable  condition  that  he  should  not  speak  of  love,  but  regard  her 
merely  as  a  friend. 

Every  one  knows  what  such  friendships  end  in:  in  a  short 
time  such  an  affection  was  enkindled  between  them  as  mortals 
seldom  feel.  He,  to  use  his  own  language,  u  was  in  love, 
with  all  the  ardor  of  passionate  and  feeling  youth,  when  it 
first  feels  the  buddings  of  that  sweetest  of  all  passions,  which 
reciprocated  make  a  heaven  of  earth.”  Though  he  kept  his 
promise  and  did  not  mention  his  folly  to  Miss  Cooke,  she 
read  it  plainly  enough  in  his  eyes.  Yea,  he  soon  perceived 
that  with  all  her  pretended  Platonism,  she  felt  something  more 
than  mere  friendship  for  him.  Alas,  that  what  was  so  sweet 
to  the  taste  should  have  been  so  bitter  in  digestion. 

At  last  his  passion  broke  all  bounds,  and  he  declared  him¬ 
self.  .  He  could  see  that  the  avowal  awakened  no  very  violent 


J.  0.  BEAUCHAMP. 


289 


displeasure,  yet  she  declined  hearing  anything  more  on  the 
subject.  Where  the  fox  can  enter  one  paw,  his  body  soon 
finds  admittance,  and,  the  ice  being  broken,  they  could  now 
talk  about  the  tender  passion,  not,  it  is  true,  as  lovers,  but  as 
friends.  She  always  said  that  there  was  an  insuperable  bar¬ 
rier  between  herself  and  any  honorable  man,  but  Beauchamp 
would  not  believe  it.  When  at  last  he  broke  through  all  re¬ 
straint,  and  formally  solicited  her  hand,  she  burst  into  an  agony 
of  passion,  and  told  him  that  though  her  heart  could  find  no 
objection  in  him,  there  was  yet  an  insuperable  obstacle  to  her 
happiness.  For  a  long  time  she  refused  to  name  the  obstacle, 
but  at  last  he  would  take  no  denial,  and  obliged  her  to  declare 
herself. 

She  said,  coolly  and  firmly,  that  the  hand  that  should  clasp 
hers  before  the  altar  must  revenge  the  injury  she  had  sustain¬ 
ed.  Her  heart  could  never  cease  to  ache  till  Colonel  Sharp 
should  have  received  his  death  wound  through  her  means.  He 
had  blighted  her  earthly  happiness,  and  she  should  feel  unworthy 
of  an  honest  man’s  love,  till  he  was  in  his  grave.  She  would 
kiss  the  hand  and  adore  the  person  of  him  who  should  avenge 
her,  but  she  would  not  consent  that  any  but  Beauchamp 
should  do  it. 

Far  from  thinking  this  condition  hard,  the  infatuated  youth 
was  delighted  with  it.  Indeed  he  had  thought  of  the  matter 
before  and  considered  Sharp’s  death  as  the  necessary  con¬ 
sequence  of  his  marriage  with  Miss  Cooke.  Such,  in  his 
opinion,  was  the  only  way  to  repair  his  wife’s  honor  and  secure 
his  own.  He  heard  her  require  what  he  had  desired  and 
calculated  upon  with  rapture.  He  told  her  that  it  had  been  his 
fixed  purpose  to  slay  Colonel  Sharp,  if  he  married  her.  She  con¬ 
sented  to  become  his  wife,  and  in  the  ardor  of  his  feelings  he  re¬ 
solved  to  fight  Sharp  immediately,  for  he  had  not  yet  resolved 
on  assassination:  as  a  stranger,  not  allied  to  Miss  Cooke,  he 
did  not  feel  himself  justifiable  in  killing  Skarp,  if  he  should 
refuse  to  fight.  It  may  seem  strange  that  he  could  have  be¬ 
lieved  such  an  act  justifiable  in  any  case,  but  be  it  remember¬ 
ed  that  human  life  is  little  regarded  in  the  western  states. 

Colonel  Sharp  was  then  in  Frankfort.  He  had  just  re¬ 
ceived  the  appointment  of  Attorney  General,  and  was  to  send 
for  his  family  in  order  to  fix  his  residence  where  he  was. 
Beauchamp  resolved  to  go  thither  immediately,  though  Miss 
Cooke  remonstrated  against  it.  She  said  Sharp  was  a  coward 
who  would  fight  in  no  case,  and  that  being  surrounded  by  his 
friends  in  Frankfort  he  would  have  every  advantage.  She 
desired  him  to  wait  till  Sharp  should  come  to  Bowling  Green, 


290 


J.  0.  BEAUCHAMP. 


where  her  friends  lived,  who  would  support  him  in  his  purpose 
Beauchamp  would  listen  to  no  expostulation.  His  determina¬ 
tion  was  to  force  Sharp  into  a  personal  combat  if  possible; 
but  if  that  could  not  be,  he  pledged  himself  to  Miss  Cooke  by 
an  oath,  that  he  would  do  the  murder  in  a  way  to  endanger 
his  own  life  as  little  as  might  be.  He  took  leave  of  her  in 
the  presence  of  his  sister.  She  burst  into  tears  and  invoked 
heaven  to  be  his  defence  and  shield  in  his  unhallowed  enter¬ 
prise.  Miss  Beauchamp  was  much  astonished,  as  were  all 
his  family,  to' whom  his  business  in  Frankfort  was  a  mystery. 

This  happened  in  the  year  eighteen  hundred  and  twenty-one. 
When  Beauchamp  reached  Frankfort  the  Legislature  was  in 
session,  but  he  saw  no  one  he  knew  till  he  met  Colonel  Sharp 
at  the  Mansion  House.  He  accosted  Beauchamp  in  the 
most  cordial  manner.  The  latter  took  him  by  the  arm  tel¬ 
ling  him  he  had  come  to  Frankfort  to  see  him  on  impor¬ 
tant  business,  and  asked  him  to  take  a  walk.  They  walked 
along  the  river  bank  out  of  the  town  till  they  came  to  a  retired 
spot,  where  they  halted,  as  the  bell  of  the  Mansion  House  was 
ringing  for  supper.  Beauchamp  then  turned  short  upon  Sharp 
and  asked  if  he  remembered  the  last  words  the  injured  Miss 
Cooke  had  spoken  to  him.  At  this  question  Sharp  stood  still, 
pale  and  trembling. 

u  Colonel  Sharp,”  said  Beauchamp,  “  I  have  come  deputed 
and  sent  by  her  to  take  your  life.  I  am  the  man  of  whom, 
in  the  spirit  of  prophecy,  she  spoke  to  you,  when  she  forbade 
you  her  presence.  She  says  you  will  not  fight  me.  Will  you, 
Sir,  or  not?” 

Sharp  stood  still  without  replying  and  Beauchamp  continued. 
u  Answer  me,  Colonel  Sharp.  Will  you  fight  a  d-uel  with  me  ?” 

u  My  dear  friend,”  replied  Sharp,  “  I  cannot  fight  you  on 
Miss  Cooke’s  account.” 

On  this  Beauchamp  drew  his  dirk  and,  assuming  a  menacing 
attitude,  bade  him  defend  himself. 

u  Upon  my  honor,  Sir,”  said  Sharp,  “  I  have  no  weapon 
but  a  small  penknife.” 

Beauchamp  took  from  his  pocket  a  Spanish  knife  and  offer- 
*ng  that  and  his  dirk  to  Sharp  said,  “  choose  one  of  these 
Sir,  and  I  will  throw  it  to  you.” 

“  My  dear  friend,”  Sharp  repeated,  “  I  cannot  fight  you 
on  Miss  Cooke’s  account.” 

Beauchamp  threw  the  knife  toward  him,  lifted  his  dagger 
and  cried, 

“  You  d — d  villain,  what  do  you  mean  by  that?  That  she 
is  not  worthy  you  should  fight  her  friend  and  avenger?” 


J.  0.  BEAUCHAMP. 


2  91 


u  My  friend,”  replied  Sharp,  u  I  meant  that  I  never  can 
fight  the  friend  of  that  worthy,  injured  lady.  If  her  brothers 
had  murdered  me  I  never  could  have  had  the  heart  to  raise 
my  hand  to  defend  myself.  And  if  you,  my  friend,  are  hei 
husband,  I  will  never  raise  my  hand  against  you.” 

u  I  am  not  her  husband,  Sir,”  said  Beauchamp,  u  but  I  am 
her  friend- and  avenger.  She  has  sent  me  to  take  your  life. 
Now,  Sir,  tell  me  if  you  will  fight  a  duel  with  me.”  With 
these  words  the  speaker  again  raised  his  dagger,  and  seeing 
Sharp  about  to  run,  sprang  upon  him  and  seized  him  by  the 
collar,  “  Now,  you  d — d  villain,”  said  he,  u  you  shall  die.” 

Sharp  fell  on  his  knees.  u  My  life  is  in  your  hands,”  he  ex¬ 
claimed.  u  My  friend,  I  beg  my  life.  Spare  it  for  mercy’s  sake.” 

Beauchamp  let  him  go,  and  struck  him  in  the  face,  so 
rudely  that  he  reeled  backward.  u  Get  up  you  coward,”  he 
cried,  “  and  go  till  I  meet  you  to-morrow  in  the  street.”  As 
he  rose  Beauchamp  gave  him  a  kick.  u  Now,”  he  said  u  go 
and  arm  yourself,  for  to-morrow  I  will  horsewhip  you  in  the 
streets  and  repeat  it  daily  till  you  fight  me.” 

Sharp,  calling  Beauchamp  u  dear  friend”  in  every  sentence, 
began  to  implore  more  lenient  treatment,  saying  that  his  con¬ 
duct  had  made  him  miserable.  His  whole  estate,  he  said, 
should  be  at  the  command  of  Miss  Cooke  and  Beauchamp,  or 
he  would  do  anything  they  might  require  if  they  would  only 
spare  his  life,  for  the  sake  of  his  wife  and  child.  All  this 
humility  did  not  mollify  his  enemy  in  the  least,  u  Stand  off, 
you  viHain,”  he  cried,  “  or  I  will  take  your  life  for  the  insult 
of  offering  me  your  estate .” 

Sharp  said  that  he  meant  no  insult,  but  he  would  do  anything 
that  could  possibly  be  required,  so  his  life  might  be  spared. 

u  It  is  of  no  use,”  answered  Beauchamp,  u  to  multiply 
words.  You  must  either  kill  me,  or  I  will  kill  you,  so  you  had 
better  consent  to  fight  me  at  once.  I  will  give  you  any  ad¬ 
vantage  you  choose  as  to  the  manner  of  fighting,  but  fight  you 
must,  or  die.” 

u  Why,”  said  Sharp,  u  my  dear  friend,  if  you  were  to  take 
a  dirk  and  I  had  a  sword,  I  could  not  raise  it  against  you. 
My  friend,  if  John  Cooke  had  beaten  me  to  death  with  a  stick, 
and  I  had  had  a  sword,  I  could  never  have  raised  it  against 
him.”  This  he  said  weeping. 

u  Very  good,  Colonel  Sharp,”  said  Beauchamp,  u  you  are 
just  such  a  whining  coward  as  I  was  told  you  were.  But  Sir, 
it  will  only  give  me  the  more  prolonged  pleasure  in  killing  you. 
For  if  I  don’t  beat  you  in  the  streets  daily,  till  I  make  you 


292 


J.  0.  BEAUCHAMP. 


fight  me,  or  till  I  beat  you  to  death — one  or  the  other  I  will 
certainly  do.  So  now  go  to  sleep  upon  that,  till  I  meet  you 
to-morrow  in  the  streets. ” 

He  then  began  to  look  for  the  knife  he  had  thrown  down, 
while  Sharp  spoke  again,  in  the  deprecating  style  he  had 
already  used,  and  begged  his  life  over  and  over!  “  O,”  said 
he,  “you  are  the  favored  possessor  of  that  great  and  worthy 
woman’s  love.  Be  it  so  then — here,  take  my  life — I  deserve 
it.  But  do  not  disgrace  me  in  the  streets.”  Beauchamp 
bade  him  begone  instantly,  or  he  would  take  him  at  his  word. 
At  the  same  time  he  started  toward  him,  which  made  Sharp 
think  it  best  to  move  off  toward  the  town.  After  looking  a 
long  while  in  vain  for  his  knife  Beauchamp  also  went  back  to 
his  lodgings. 

Such  scenes  of  ruffian  violence  as  we  have  described  are 
not  uncommon  in  the  west.  Beauchamp,  not  satisfied  with 
having  humbled  Sharp  to  the  dust,  prepared  to  repeat  the  air 
with  variations  and  additions.  To  this  end  he  bought  a  very 
heavy  whip,  and  after  breakfasting  in  the  morning,  patroled 
the  streets,  in  search  of  his  enemy,  armed  at  all  points.  He 
expected  that  Sharp  would  be  found  surrounded  by  his  friends, 
and  would  fire  on  him  as  he  advanced  to  the  assault.  He 
also  had  pistols,  and  to  keep  to  windward  of  the  law  intended 
to  approach  without  uttering  a  word.  If  Sharp  fired,  he 
meant  to  return  the  fire  from  a  distance.  Thus  he  was  sure 
of  having  the  advantage,  for  he  knew  that  Sharp  was  unskill 
ed  in  the  use  of  the  pistol  while  he  was  himself  an  excellent 
shot.  This  circumspection  would  convict  him  of  cowardice, 
had  he  not  before  offered  to  fight  Sharp  fairly;  at  any  rate  it 
proves  that  his  moral  perceptions  were  by  no  means  acute. 
May  Heaven  forgive  his  wickedness. 

He  walked  round  the  town  several  times  in  the  course  of 
the  day,  and  seeing  nothing  of  the  intended  victim,  concluded 
that  he  had  kept  his  room.  Our  hero  repeated  his  promenade 
the  next  day,  till  becoming  impatient,  he  made  inquiries  and 
learned  that  Sharp  had  set  off  at  daylight  the  morning  after 
their  rencontre  for  Bowling  Green,  in  order,  as  he  had  said,  to 
bring  his  family  to  Frankfort.  Beauchamp  mounted  his 
beast  and  pursued,  but  leisurely,  as  he  knew  he  could  not 
overtake  his  enemy  short  of  Bowling  Green,  where  he  would 
rather  have  met  him  than  in  any  other  place.  When  he  got 
to  Bowling  Green  he  found  he  had  been  deceived:  Sharp  was 
not  there,  nor  was  he  expected.  He  then  returned  to  home 
an#1  Miss  Cooke. 


J.  0.  BEAUCHAMP. 


293 


They  concluded  to  defer  their  marriage  till  Colonel  Sharp 
should  come  to  Bowling  Green,  when  they  intended  to  lure 
him  to  Miss  Cooke’s  house,  so  that  she  might  kill  him  with 
her  own  hand.  Beauchamp  did  not  like  this  plan,  for  he 
chought  he  should  be  dishonored  if  Sharp  fell  by  any  hand 
but  his  own.  But  she  was  inflexible,  desiring  more  than  all 
things  to  avenge  her  own  wrong;  and  that  she  might  not  fail, 
she  practised  daily  with  pistols,  in  the  use  of  which  her  lover 
instructed  her.  At  last  Sharp  came  to  Bowling  Green,  and 
she  wrote  a  letter  which  she  hoped  would  bring  him  within 
her  reach. 

Notwithstanding  the  feeling  she  had  manifested  toward  him 
at  their  last  meeting,  she  said,  that  though  she  had  forbid¬ 
den  him  ever  to  see  her  again,  she  found  that  such  was  not 
the  dictate  of  her  heart,  but  of  a  delirious  passion.  He 
ought  not  to  be  surprised  that  the  enthusiastic  and  chivalrous 
feelings  of  a  youth  like  Beauchamp  had  made  him  hope  to 
win  her  favor  by  fighting  a  duel  in  her  behalf.  It  was  true 
she  had  been  pleased  with  Mr.  Beauchamp’s  character,  and 
might  have  encouraged  his  hopes  by  some  heedless  expres¬ 
sions,  but  she  had  broken  off  all  intercourse  with  him,  on  ac¬ 
count  of  the  violent  course  he  had  taken.  She  expected  soon 
to  leave  the  state,  and  as  he  had  conjured  her  by  letter 
to  consent  to  an  interview,  she  now  thought  that  before  she 
left  the  state  she  should  like  to  return  his  letters  and  have 
back  her  own,  if  he  still  retained  any  of  them.  She  therefore 
requested  him  to  call,  at  a  stated  time,  and  desired  him  to 
apprise  her  by  the  servant  who  carried  the  letter  whether  he 
would  come  or  not. 

On  reading  the  letter,  Colonel  Sharp  asked  the  servant 
whether  Mr.  Beauchamp  was  at  Miss  CookeVhouse  when  he 
left  it.  The  man  answered  no,  for  he  had  been  instructed  so 
to  do.  Sharp  then  asked  if  Beauchamp  continued  to  visit 
his  mistress,  and  was  informed  that  he  did.  The  next  ques¬ 
tion  was  respecting  the  time  since  Beauchamp’s  last  visit, 
which  he  was  informed  took  place  several  days  before.  He 
learned  that  a  marriage  had  been  spoken  of  between  Miss 
Cooke  and  Beauchamp,  and  was  falsely  informed  that  his 
enemy  was  not  in  the  neighbourhood. 

In  his  answer  he  expressed  no  less  delight  than  surprise  at 
a  permission  to  see  her  once  more,  of  which  he  acknowledged 
himself  unworthy,  and  said  that  nothing  but  death  should 
hinder  him  from  attending  her  at  the  hour  appointed.  How¬ 
ever,  he  did  not  come,  having  probably  some  suspicion  that 


294 


J.  0.  BEAUCHAMP. 


the  letter  was  an  artifice  to  entrap  him,  as  indeed  it  was. 
The  nsxt  morning  Beauchamp  started  for  Bowling  Green,  re¬ 
solved  to  settle  the  business  with  Sharp  in  some  way,  but 
found  on  his  arrival  that  he  had  been  gone  two  days  on  his 
way  to  Frankfort.  Wherefore  our  hero  determined  to  pur¬ 
sue  his  studies  quietly  in  Bowling  Green  till  Sharp  should 
venture  thither  to  arrange  his  affairs,  which  he  had  left  in  an 
unsettled  state.  He  felt,  as  he  afterwards  said,  that  he  never 
could  consider  Miss  Cooke  as  his  wife  till  he  should  have  de¬ 
stroyed  her  seducer,  and  she  thought  that  Beauchamp  would 
be  degraded  by  marrying  her  before  her  injuries  should  be 
avenged. 

Beauchamp  made  a  journey  to  Tennessee,  of  which  more 
anon,  before  he  married.  He  abstained  long  from  any  attempt 
on  Sharp,  because  Miss  Cooke  could  not  be  persuaded  to  forego 
the  purpose  of  immolating  him  with  her  own  hand.  This 
womanish  idea  was  worth  many  days  of  life  to  him.  In  June 
eighteen  hundred  and  twenty-four,  Beauchamp,  having  com¬ 
pleted  his  studies,  married  Ann  Cooke,  and  he  now  thought 
himself  privileged  to  revenge  her,  even  by  assassination. 

That  year  the  gubernatorial  election  took  place,  the  con¬ 
test  being  between  Judge  Tompkins  and  General  Desha. 
Beauchamp  looked  forward  with  hopes  for  the  success  of 
J udge  Tompkins,  because  he  forsaw  that  he  should  be  obliged 
to  petition  for  executive  clemency,  and  he  knew  that  Colonel 
Sharp  was  Desha’s  right  hand  man.  He  also  knew  that 
Sharp  possessed  great  influence  in  Frankfort,  and  was  there 
considered  the  head  of  a  powerful  party,  for  which  reasons, 
he  naturally  feared  to  come  before  a  Frankfort  jury. 

Sharp  had  long  been  expected  in  Bowling  Green,  but  as 
he  did  not  come,  Beauchamp  began  to  be  impatient,  and 
fearful  that  he  would  never  more  venture  thither.  He  hit  on 
an  ingenious  expedient  to  ascertain  the  truth.  He  caused 
letters  to  Colonel  Sharp,  to  be  put  into  various  postoffices  about 
the  country,  signed  with  the  names  of  imaginary  persons, 
and  purporting  that  the  signers  wished  to  know  when  he 
would  be  in  Bowling  Green,  that  they  might  consult  him  on 
business.  However,  he  received  no  positive  answer,  and 
therefore  determined  if  Sharp  did  not  soon  come  to  Bowling 
Green  to  seek  and  slay  him  in  whatever  corner  of  the  world 
he  might  be  found:  About  this  time  an  event  occurred  which 
confirmed  him  in  his  resolution 

Sharp  was  a  candidate  for  a  seat  in  the  legislature,  and,  as 
may  be  supposed,  his  political  opponents  did  not  fail  to  reproach 


J.  0.  BEAUCHAMP. 


295 


him  with  the  seduction  of  Miss  Cooke.  This  injured  his 
prospect,  and  to  do  away  with  the  unfavorable  impression,  a 
report  was  circulated  that  Miss  Cooke’s  child  was  the  offspring 
of  a  negro.  Sharp  supported  the  tale  by  reference  to  the 
forged  certificate  before  mentioned.  He  was  led  into  this 
villainy  by  the  imprudence  of- his  wife’s  family,  for  whose 
satisfaction  the  certificate  had  originally  been  forged.  It  is 
by  no  means  probable  that  he  at  first  meant  to  make  so  open  a 
use  of  it.  Yet  the  story  having  been  once  told,  on  his  au¬ 
thority,  he  was  obliged  to  persist  in  it,  for  one  falsehood  is  the 
sure  progenitor  of  a  thousand  more.  When  this  thing  came 
to  Beauchamp’s  ears  he  resolved  to  go  to  Frankfort  at  once, 
and  assassinate  Sharp,  whatever  the  danger  might  be,  and 
although  Desha  was  governor. 

He  was  encouraged  by  Desha’s  private  affairs.  At  that 
moment  Isaac  Desha,  the  governor’s  son,  was  lying  in  prison, 
awaiting  his  trial  for  a  robbery  and  murder  committed  on  the 
highway,  with  circumstances  of  peculiar  atrocity.  He 
thought,  from  a  knowledge  of  the  governor’s  character,  that 
he  would  pardon  his  son,  and  could  not  therefore  refuse  to 
extend  the  executive  clemency  to  him  also.  He  hoped  to  es¬ 
cape  with  impunity  for  other  reasons,  viz: 

Colonel  Sharp  was  the  main  pillar  of  the  new  administra¬ 
tion.  Party  rage  ran  very  high,  and  Beauchamp  thought,  with 
reason,  that  if  he  should  slay  him  on  the  second  night  of  the 
election,  his  party  would  be  glad  to  turn  his  death  to  account, 
by  charging  the  old  court  party  with  it.  Even  Sharp’s  own  fam¬ 
ily,  he  believed,  would  be  glad  to  enhance  the  value  of  their 
kinsman  by  giving  currency  to  the  report.  But  for  an  unfore¬ 
seen  occurrence,  the  junction  of  the  two  parties,  this  stra¬ 
tagem  would  have  had  the  effect  he  intended. 

He  waited  patiently  till  the  night  before  the  meeting  of  the 
legislature,  and  in  the  meanwhile  took  his  measures  to  divert 
suspicion,  and  to  effect  his  escape  to  Missouri.  Three  weeks 
before  the  meeting  of  the  legislature,  he  made  sale  of  his 
property,  and  reported  on  all  occasions  that  he  should  start 
for  Missouri,  the  very  day  on  which  he  really  intended  to  kill 
Colonel  Sharp.  He  had  his  wagon,  horses,  and  everything 
ready,  and  even  hired  persons  to  come,  two  days  previous  to 
the  time  of  the  premeditated  murder,  to  assist  him  in  loading 
his  wagon.  Yet  he  had  secretly  prepared  an  excuse  for  defer¬ 
ring  his  departure  till  a  week  later. 

He  had  managed  to  have  business  in  Frankfort,  that  would 


296 


J.  0.  BEAUCHAMP. 


render  it  necessary  for  him  to  go  thither  before  his  departure 
for  Missouri.  However,  he  never  intimated  his  intention  to 
go  there,  because  he  wished  to  have  it  appear  a  casual  thing. 
That  this  might  be  more  apparent,  lie  told  his  business  to  one 
Lowe,  and  offered  to  hire  him  to  go  and  transact  the  business 
for  him,  well  knowing  that  Lowe  would  refuse.  On  Lowe’s 
refusal  he  told  him  he  could  not  possibly  attend  to  the  matter 
himself,  and  would  therefore  get  his  brother  to  go  for  him. 
But  the  Saturday  before  the  Tuesday  on  which  he  really 
intended  to  start  for  Frankfort,  he  procured  a  process  to  be 
issued  against  him,  which  if  executed,  must  necessarily  pre¬ 
vent  his  projected  removal  to  Missouri.  On  Saturday  evening 
he  was  informed  of  this  process,  at  which  he  affected  the 
utmost  astonishment.  He  told  his  informant,  Mr.  Bradburn, 
that  it  would  ruin  him,  by  preventing  his  removal.  Bradburn 
said  it  was  a  mere  vexatious  thing,  intended  to  delay  him,  and 
advised  him  to  keep  out  of  the  way  and  avoid  it,  till  his  friends 
could  get  his  family  ready  to  start.  Beauchamp  said  he 
would  rather  remain  and  defend  himself,  as  the  next  Sunday 
was  the  day  he  had  set  for  his  departure.  The  next  day  he 
met  Lowe,  who  was  a  constable,  and  forbade  him  to  approach, 
saying  he  was  armed  and  would  defend  himself.  On  several 
occasions  he  expressed  his  determination  to  stay  and  brave 
the  law,  but  at  last,  on  the  urgent  solicitation  of  his  friends, 
consented  to  leave  the  country  to  avoid  the  process,  while 
they  should  prepare  for  the  departure  of  his  family.  Thus 
he  availed  himself  of  the  process  as  a  pretext  for  going  to 
F rankfort,  for  which  he  immediately  started.  He  carried  with 
him  a  bundle  of  old  clothes,  such  as  are  worn  in  Kentucky 
by  negroes,  to  disguise  himself  in,  and  had,  beside,  a  black 
silk  mask,  made  by  his  wife  for  this  express  purpose.  So  well 
had  she  fitted  it  to  his  face,  that  he  could  not  have  been  dis¬ 
tinguished,  with  it  on,  from  a  negro,  at  the  distance  of  five 
yards.  Moreover  he  was  provided  with  a  large  butcher’s 
knife,  the  point  of  which  Mrs.  Beauchamp  had  poisoned. 

He  was  told  at  the  Mansion  House  in  Frankfort  that  he 
could  not  be  accommodated,  and  had  the  same  answer  to  his 
demand  for  lodgings  at  another  tavern.  Here  he  was  told 
that  Mr.  Scott,  the  keeper  of  the  penitentiary,  might  take 
him  in,  and  accordingly  went  thither  and  was  admitted.  He 
retired  early,  and  equipped  himself  for  the  deed  he  had  so 
long  meditated.  Unluckily  for  him,  he  threw  the  handker¬ 
chief  in  which  his  bundle  of  old  clothes  had  been  tied  on  the 
outside  of  the  bed,  and  left  it  there.  He  put  on,  instead  of 


J.  0.  BEAUCHAMP. 


297 


shies,  two  pairs  of  yarn  stockings,  to  prevent  his  steps  from 
being  heard,  and  his  track  from  being  identified.  Between 
nine  and  ten  he  stole  down  stairs,  and  crept  softly  out  of  Mr. 
Scott’s  house,  unheard,  as  he  thought,  by  any  one. 

He  went  directly  to  Colonel  Sharp’s  house,  the  position  of 
which  had  been  accurately  described  to  him,  and  looked  into 
the  windows.  The  victim  was  not  there.  He  then  sauntered 
to  the  Mansion  House,  and  saw  Colonel  Sharp  within  through 
the  windows.  He  had  so  long  thought  of  killing  this  man  that 
he  believed  he  could  do  it  coolly  and  dispassionately.  But 
at  the  sight  of  him  he  was  excited  to  such  a  degree  that  he 
could  scarce  refrain  from  rushing  in,  and  stabbing  him  in  the 
crowd.  After  awhile  he  lost  sight  of  him,  and  went  to  his 
house  again,  but  he  was  not  there.  For  fear,  therefore,  of 
missing  him,  Beauchamp  determined  to  watch  the  house  till 
he  arrived.  He  could  not  reconcile  it  to  his  mind  that  Sharp 
should  die  without  knowing  his  murderer,  and  therefore  re¬ 
solved  to  lay  hands  on  him  in  the  street,  whisper  his  name, 
and  instantly  despatch  him.  But  while  he  was  examining  the 
back  part  of  the  house,  Sharp  got  in  unperceived,  and  thus 
frustrated  one  part  of  his  plan.  After  a  few  moment’s 
reflection,  the  assassin  concluded  to  wait  till  all  in  the  house 
had  retired,  and  then  call  the  Colonel  up.  He  had  originally 
intended  to  have  killed  Doctor  Sharp,  the  Colonel’s  brother, 
who  had  been  one  of  the  promulgators  of  the  slander  touch¬ 
ing  the  black  child,  but  his  wife  had  dissuaded  him  Now, 
while  he  was  lying  in  the  public  square  doubting  whether  to 
knock  at  the  front  door  or  a  secret  one  in  a  dark  alley,  he 
concluded  to  kill  the  Doctor  also,  lest  he  should  be  the  means 
of  detecting  him.  An  accident  saved  him:  one  of  the  neigh¬ 
bours  came  and  asked  him  to  accompany  him  home,  and  he 
went. 

To  lure  Sharp  to  the  door  Beauchamp  could  think  of  no 
better  plan  than  to  call  himself  one  of  the  Covingtons,  Sharp’s 
most  intimate  friends.  For  reasons  of  his  own  he  intended 
to  alter  the  name  a  little. 

Having  matured  his  plans  the  assassin  drew  his  dagger  and 
knocked  at  the  door  in  the  alley,  three  times,  loud  and  quick. 
“Who’s  there?”  cried  Sharp.  “  Covington,”  replied  Beau¬ 
champ.  The  assassin  soon  heard  Sharp  approaching,  and 
saw  under  the  door  that  he  carried  a  light.  He  drew  his 
mask  from  his  face,  and  the  instant  Sharp  opened  the  door 
seized  him  with  the  left  hand.  The  violence  of  the  grasp 
alarmed  the  victim,  who  sprung  back,  trying  in  vain  to  disen- 


29S 


J.  0.  BEAUCHAMP. 


gage  his  wrist,  and  asked,  “  What  Covington  is  t  nis  ?”  u  John 
A.  Covington,  Sir,”  replied  the  murderer.  “  f  don’t  know 
you,”  said  the  other,  “  I  knew  John  W.  Covington,”  “  My 
name,”  the  assassin  repeated,  “  is  John  A.  Covington.”  At 
this  moment  Mrs.  Sharp,  who  had  come  to  an  inner  door  with 
her  husband,  being  alarmed  at  the  little  scuffle  he  made  to 
free  his  wrist,  disappeared.  Beauchamp  then  said  in  a  tone 
of  deep  mortification,  u  And  did  you  not  know  me,  sure 
enough?”  u  Not  with  your  handkerchief  about  your  face,” 
he  replied,  for  the  handkerchief  with  which  he  had  bound  on 
his  mask,  was  still  bound  round  Beauchamp’s  forehead. 

u  Come  to  the  light,  Colonel,”  said  the  assassin  in  a  per¬ 
suasive  tone,  u  and  you  will  know  me.”  With  that  he  gave 
Sharp  a  pull  and  he  came  readily  to  the  door.  Beauchamp 
planted  one  foot  on  the  first  step  of  the  door,  tore  away  the 
handkerchief,  and  looked  up  full  in  his  victim’s  face.  Horror 
struck  at  the  sight,  Sharp  sprang  back  exclaiming,  “  Great 
God,  It ’s  he!”  and  so  saying  fell  on  his  knees  after  failing 
to  release  his  wrist.  As  he  fell  the  murderer  shifted  his  grasp 
from  his  wrist  to  his  throat,  dashed  him  against  the  facing  of 
the  door,  choaking  him  all  the  while  to  prevent  him  from  crying 
aloud.  “  Die  villain,”  he  cried,  at  the  same  moment  driving 
the  knife  to  his  heart  and  letting  him  go.  He  rose  from  his 
knees,  endeavouring  to  throw  his  arms  round  his  murderer’s 
neck,  and  said,  u  Pray  Mr.  Beauchamp” — As  he  spoke  his 
enemy  struck  him  in  the  face  with  his  left  hand  and  knocked 
him  down  upon  the  floor.  Then  seeing  the  light  coming  he 
put  on  his  mask  and  ran  a  little  way  off.  Being  desirous, 
however,  to  know  if  he  had  done  his  work  thoroughly,  he  came 
back  and  squatted  down  in  the  alley  to  listen.  He  heard  Mrs 
Sharp  speak  toiler  husband,  but  he  could  not  answer. 

In  a  very  brief  space  Doctor  Sharp  ran  in  and  ex 
claimed,  u  Great  God,  Beauchamp  has  done  this!  I  always 
expected  it!”  The  town  was  now  alarmed,  and  the  people 
began  to  collect,  but  Beauchamp  did  not  budge,  he  wanted 
to  hear  what  would  be  said,  and  moreover  wished  to  be  seen 
and  taken  for  a  negro.  At  last,  as  he  was  trying  to  look  into 
a  window,  Mrs.  Sharp  came  upon  him,  and  cried  to  the  com¬ 
pany  that  she  saw  the  murderer.  He  started  and  ran,  pursued 
by  all  the  people,  but  he  distanced  them  every  one,  and  went 
to  the  river  side  to  get  his  hat  and  coat.  He  went  farther 
down  and  sunk  the  old  hat  and  coat  in  which  he  had  done 
this  ruthless  deed  in  the  river,  with  a  stone.  He  also  concealed 
his  knife.  Then  after  dressing  himself  in  his  ordinaryapparel, 


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4 


J.  0.  BEAUCHAMP.  299 

he  returned  into  the  town,  and  passed  Colonel  Sharp’s  house, 
where  all  was  now  silent  as  the  grave.  However,  he  had 
heard  and  seen  that  Sharp  died  without  uttering  a  syllable, 
before  he  left  the  house,  which  was  the  chief  cause  of  his  anxi¬ 
ety.  He  regained  his  chamber,  as  he  had  left  it,  lighted  his 
candle,  burned  his  mask,  washed  his  hands,  and  laid  down,  with 
a  tolerable  certainty  of  being  arrested  in  the  morning.  Will 
it  be  believed?  he  slept  soundly  till  the  stirring  of  the  family 
awakened  him  in  the  morning. 

Mr.  Scott,  Beauchamp’s  landlord,  was  a  relation  of  Mrs. 
Sharp.  In  the  morning  Beauchamp  heard  the  news  of  Sharp’s 
death  told  to  Scott,  and  expected  a  visit  from  him  in  his  cham¬ 
ber.  Shortly  he  came  into  the  room  and  bade  good  morning 
to  the  murderer,  who  returned  the  salutation  very  politely. 
u  Don’t  you  think,”  said  the  other  abruptly,  “  that  some  man 
went  to  Sharp  last  night  and  killed  him?  u  Great  God,” 
cried  the  assassin,  with  well  affected  composure, (f  is  it  possible  ? 
What,  Colonel  Sharp  dead!”  “  Yes,”  said  Scott,  “  Colonel 
Sharp  is  dead.’’  Beauchamp  stood  a  moment  mute,  and  then 
asked,  u  How  did  it  happen  Sir?  In  a  fight?”  u  No,”  replied 
Scott,  u  some  stranger  called  him  to  his  door  and  just  stabbed 
him  dead.”  As  he  was  about  to  retire  Beauchamp  called  him 
back  with,  u  Stay,  Sir;  for  God’s  sake  tell  me  something  about 
this  horrid  affair.”  “I  can  tell  you  nothing  in  the  world 
about  it,  Sir,  said  Scott,  “  farther  than  that  Colonel  Sharp 
was  called  to  his  door  from  his  bed,  and  stabbed  down  dead 
upon  the  floor.”  With  that,  his  suspicions  being  probably 
removed,  Scott  retired. 

When  Beauchamp  went  down  stairs  Mrs.  Scott  asked  him 
into  the  dining  room  and  told  him  about  the  murder.  He  told 
her  he  had  heard  of  it  before,  from  her  husband,  and  asked  if 
any  one  was  suspected.  She  answered  in  the  negative,  and 
he  then  went  to  the  Register’s  Office.  He  had  before  sent 
the  documents  relating  to  certain  surveys  to  be  entered  on  the 
register’s  books,  in  order  to  account  for  his  presence  in  Frank¬ 
fort.  After  searching  the  files,  he  found  that  this  business 
had  been  neglected  by  the  person  to  whom  it  was  entrusted, 
and  saw,  to  his  confusion,  that  he  should  not  be  able  to  give  a 
satisfactory  account  of  himself.  He  therefore  resolved  to 
start  immediately  for  home  to  avoid  being  arrested,  hastened 
back  to  Mr.  Scott’s  house,  and  ordered  his  horse. 

While  the  servants  were  preparing  his  horse,  he  entered 
into  conversation  about  the  murder  with  Mr.  Scott,  and  per¬ 
ceived,  by  his  manner,  that  his  suspicions  had  revived 

14 


300 


J.  0.  BEAUCHAMP. 


However,  he  answered  all  questions  politely,  and  even  ad¬ 
mitted  that  he  had  married  Ann  Cooke.  This  information 
made  a  strong  impression  on  Mr.  Scott,  but  he  did  not  never¬ 
theless  arrest  Beauchamp,  who  mounted  his  horse  and  rode 
off  unmolested. 

When  he  had  gotten  a  little  way  from  Frankfort,  he  recol¬ 
lected  having  left  the  handkerchief  before  mentioned  on  his 
bed,  and  at  first  thought  of  turning  back  for  it,  but  remember¬ 
ing  that  it  was  ragged  and  worn  out,  and  thinking  that  the 
blood  on  it  came  from  his  own  nose  some  weeks  before,  he 
concluded  it  could  avail  nothing  as  evidence  against  him,  and 
so  kept  on.  Reflecting,  too,  that  it  would  be  difficult  to 
avoid  incurring  farther  suspicion,  he  resolved  only  to  tell  the 
news  of  the  murder  where  there  were  several  persons  present, 
so  that  as  witnesses,  one  might  be  a  check  on  the  other. 
He  soon  met  two  persons,  but  as  he  himself  afterwards 
stated,  did  not  mention  the  matter  to  them.  He  m<A  several 
more  in  the  course  of  the  day,  to  whom  he  told  the  mere  fact 
that  Colonel  Sharp  was  dead,  but  did  not  mention  the  par¬ 
ticulars,  even  those  he  had  heard  from  Mr.  Scott,  for  he 
feared  to  mention  something  which  that  person  might  deny 
having  told  him.  At  least  such  is  his  own  account  of  his 
conduct,  though  it  was  contradicted  by  several  witnesses  on 
his  trial. 

He  got  home  on  the  fourth  day,  and  informed  his  wife  that 
his  purpose  was  accomplished.  She  fell  at  his  feet  and 
returned  thanks  to  Heaven,  and  clasping  his  knees,  called 
upon  the  spirits  of  her  deceased  relatives  to  bless  him,  and 
intercede  with  their  Maker  to  protect  him;  for  this  singular 
woman  considered  the  murder  of  Sharp  a  righteous  action. 
She  then  asked  if  he  was  safe.  He  told  her  that  he  cared 
not  for  anything  mortals  could  do  to  him,  since  his  hand  had 
avenged  her,  but  that  the  avenger  of  blood  was  on  his  track. 
Then,  having  retired  to  a  more  private  place,  they  conversed 
about  what  had  befallen,  and  were  happy,  for  they  had  brought 
themselves  to  believe  that  the  murder  of  Sharp  was  the  most 
glorious  deed  that  could  be  done.  This  opinion  consoled 
them  for  all  their  troubles,  and  made  them  regardless  of 
danger. 

It  was  agreed  between  them  that  he  should  put  his  house 
in  order  for  battle,  and  defend  himself  to  the  last  extremity 
against  the  Sharps,  if  they  should  come  to  arrest  him.  He 
even  revolved  in  his  mind  the  propriety  of  firing  on  his  pur¬ 
suers,  whoever  they  might  be,  and  then  making  his  escape. 


J.  0.  BEAUCHAMP 


301 


Had  they  arrived  that  night  it  is  probable  he  would  have 
fought  them,  but  believing  that  no  proof  could  be  brought 
against  him,  he  came  to  the  conclusion,  before  morning,  to 
remain  and  brave  investigation. 

The  next  evening,  before  sunset,  as  he  was  cleaning  and 
loading  his  rifle  in  the  yard,  four  men  rode  up,  one  of  whom 
he  recognised  as  a  person  he  had  seen  in  Frankfort.  Though 
he  knew  they  were  come  for  him,  he  walked  cheerfully  to  meet 
them,  and  one  of  them  asked  if  his  name  was  Beauchamp,  and 
if  he  had  not  just  returned  from  Frankfort.  He  answered  in 
the  affirmative,  and  one  said  that  he  was  suspected  of  the 
murder  of  Sharp,  and  requested  him,  as  a  gentleman,  to 
v  go  with  them  to  Frankfort  and  acquit  himself  He  affect¬ 
ed  great  surprise  at  being  suspected,  but  said  he  was  ready 
to  start  for  Frankfort  immediately,  if  anything  had  been  said 
injurious  to  his  reputation.  He  told  them  that  he  was  on  his 
own  premises,  free,  and  in  a  condition  to  defend  himself,  and 
that  if,  as  they  said,  they  only  called  on  him,  as  a  gentleman, 
to  go  forward  and  meet  the  charge,  he  would  cheerfully  do  so, 
but  that  he  neither  could  nor  would  be  taken  to  Frankfort  as  a 
prisoner.  As  he  was  now  apprised  that  he  was  suspected, 
he  should  go  thither  at  all  events,  but  not  with  them,  if  they 
intended  to  consider  him  a  prisoner.  They  assured  him  they 
had  no  such  intention,  and  he  then  invited  them  to  alight  and 
refresh  themselves,  while  his  horse  should  be  getting  ready 
To  convince  the  men  of  his  sincerity  he  ordered  his  servants 
to  bring  out  his  arms  and  deliver  them  to  them.  He  had 
enough  weapbns  to  have  armed  his  servants.  Presently  one 
of  the  men  asked  leave  to  examine  his  dirk,  for  our  readers 
must  know  that  almost  every  gentleman  in  Kentucky  wears 
a  dagger.  This  pleased  him,  for  he  knew  it  would  'not  cor¬ 
respond  with  the  wound,  and  he  was  also  glad  to  learn  that 
they  had  the  measure  of  a  shoe  track  which  had  been  found 
near  Sharp’s  door,  and  which  every  one  supposed  to  have 
been  that  of  the  murderer.  It  however  frightened  him  to 
see  that  it  did  not  vary  materially  from  the  dimensions  of  his 
foot,  and  one  of  the  men,  in  the  belief  that  he  had  made  his 
fortune,  cried,  “  Exactly!  Exactly,  to  a  hair’s  breadth!”  A 
great  reward  had  been  offered  for  the  apprehension  of  the 
assassin. 

When  he  was  ready  to  start  Beauchamp  asked  for  his  dirk, 
which  they  returned,  seeing  him  angry,  with  some  reluctance. 
They  had  the  handkerchief  before  mentioned  with  them,  but 
did  not  tell  him  so,  nor  did  he  deem  it  prudent  to  inquire 
about  it  v  # 


30  2 


J.  0.  BEAUCHAMP. 


A  short  distance  from  the  house  the  party  was  joined  by 
John  W.  and  Isaac  Covington,  Colonel  Sharp’s  intimate 
friends.  They  too,  asked  to  see  Beauchamp’s  dirk,  and  he 
handed  it  to  them.  When  he  asked  for  it  again  they  said 
they  had  lost  it.  They  had  thrown  it  away,  if  Beauchamp 
is  to  be  believed,  but  according  to  their  account  he  threw 
it  away  himself.  Be  that  as  it  may,  it  was  described  in  the 
newspapers  as  a  broad  weapon  with  keen  edges,  but  it  was 
found  and  produced  in  court,  where  it  did  not  answer  this 
description  at  all. 

When  they  had  passed  the  boundary  of  Simpson  county 
they  mentioned  the  handkerchief,  and  Beauchamp  asked  to 
see  it.  His  dismay  was  great  at  seeing  that  one  corner  was 
cut  off,  and  that  there  were  two  holes  in  it,  as  if  the  assassin 
had  stabbed  through  it.  He  believed  the  Sharp’s  would  prove 
it  to  have  been  found  before  their  dead  kinsman’s  door,  and 
therefore  resolved  to  get  it  into  his  own  hands  and  destroy  it. 

At  night  they  slept  in  a  room  in  which  there  were  two  beds, 
one  of  which  was  assigned  to  Beauchamp,  and  the  other  to 
those  of  the  party  who  slept  while  the  rest  watched.  They 
had  liquor,  of  which  Beauchamp  prevailed  on  them  to  drink 
freely.  He  then  asked  to  look  at  the  handkerchief,  and  re¬ 
turned  fervent  thanks  to  Heaven  that  it  had  been  found  at 
Sharp’s  door,  telling  the  bystanders  that  it  would  clear  him, 
by  leading  to  the  detection  of  the  really  guilty.  He  then 
gave  it  back,  taking  notice  which  of  them  put  it  in  his  pocket. 

He  invited  this  man  to  sleep  with  him.  The  fellow  took 
off  his  coat,  with  the  handkerchief  in  its  pocket,  and  threw  it 
upon  the  bed.  Beauchamp,  after  getting  into  bed,  complain¬ 
ed  of  cold,  and  drew  his  cloak  over  his  bedfellow’s  coat,  so 
that  the  two  who  watched  might  not  see  how  he  employed  his 
hands.  He  had  so  fuddled  one  of  these  that  his  eyes  were 
of  little  use  to  him.  Beauchamp  after  picking  the  coat  pocket 
of  the  handkerchief,  rose  to  stir  the  fire,  as  he  said,  and  the 
moment  the  sober  watcher  looked  another  way,  threw  the 
handkerchief  upon  the  coals,  and  it  was  consumed  in  a 
moment. 

The  next  morning  they  stopped  to  breakfast  at  a  tavern, 
where  two  of  Beauchamp’s  friends  came  to  see  him.  He 
expressed  to  them  his  great  willingness  to  meet  investiga¬ 
tion,  saying  that  the  assassin’s  handkerchief  had  been  found, 
and  with  divine  assistance,  would,  he  doubted  not,  lead  to  the 
detection  of  the  really  guilty.  His  friends  asked  to  see  it,  and 
Beauchamp  asked  the  guard  to  show  it  to  them.  The  man 


J.  0.  BEAUCHAMP. 


303 


felt  for  it  and  exclaimed  that  it  was  gone.  u  For  God's 
sake” — cried  Beauchamp,  u  I  hope  not.  Do  look  for  it  again.” 
When  they  had  looked  a  long  time  in  vain  for  it  they  were 
much  out  of  countenance,  arid  the  bystanders  laughed  at  them. 
Beauchamp,  however,  put  on  a  face  of  deep  concern,  and 
begged  them  to  go  back  and  make  a  thorough  search  for  it. 
They  refused,  and  he  told  them  he  believed  they  did  not  wish 
it  should  be  found.  They  retorted  by  charging  him  with 
taking  it  himself,  and  a  violent  altercation  ensued,  Beauchamp 
abusing  them  till  they  agreed  to  send  back  and  search.  In 
due  time  they  reached  Frankfort. 

What  Beauchamp  had  foreseen  came  to  pass.  The  Sharp 
party  attributed  their  leader’s  death  to  the  opposition,  and 
Amos  Kendall,  then  the  unworthy  editor  of  the  Argus,  called 
on  the  people  to  mourn  for  him  as  a  martyr  in  the  cause  of 
the  people.  Nay,  he  threatened  any  who  should  dare  to 
attribute  the  murder  to  other  than  political  motives.  Sharp’s 
relations  followed  in  the  same  cry,  naturally  preferring  to  have 
it  said  that  their  admired  kinsman  had  been  slain  for  fear  of 
his  matchless  abilities,  than  that  he  had  been  the  victim  of  a 
private  revenge  for  ingratitude  and  a  base  seduction.  For 
awhile  nothing  offended  them  more  than  the  insinuation  that 
Beaucha,mp  was  the  assassin,  wherefore  the  latter  began  to 
feel  safe,  and  prided  himself  much  on  his  foresight,  but  an 
unexpected  circumstance  changed  the  complexion  of  his 
destiny. 

This  was  a  story,  first  set  forth  by  the  u  Heaven  born” 
Kendall,  making  Beauchamp  the  instrument  of  the  old  party 
in  politics.  A  fellow  named  Darby,  the  editor  of  an  opposition 
party,  was  said  to  have  shared  in  his  guilt  and  was  prevailed 
on  to  give  color  to  the  fiction  by  his  evidence,  which  was 
neither  consistent,  nor,  in  some  points,  uncontradicted.  This 
man,  being  himself  in  danger,  swore  Beauchamp  had  made 
him  the  confidant  of  his  design  to  kill  Sharp,  at  a  time  when 
they  were  strangers  to  each  other. 

It  was  expected  to  prove  that  Beauchamp  must  have  made 
the  track  found  near  Colonel  Sharp’s  door,  but  it  did  not 
exactly  correspond  with  the  length  and  breadth  of  his  foot. 
The  attempt  to  prove  that  Beauchamp  dropped  the  so  often 
mentioned  handkerchief  at  the  door  failed  also. 

The  evidence  of  many  of  those  to  whom  Beauchamp  related 
the  news  of  the  murder  between  Frankfort  and  his  own  house 
was  highly  unfavorable,  imputing  to  him  suspicious  behavior. 

Mrs'.  Sharp  swore  to  his  voice;  and  the  particulars  of  his 
conversation  with  her  husband  before  stabbing  him,  coincided, 


304 


J.  0.  BEAUCHAMP 


as  testified  by  her,  with  the  account  he  had  given  of  himself 
to  Mr.  Scott. 

He  had  called  himself  John  A.  Covington  in  speaking  to 
Colonel  Sharp,  because  he  was  perfectly  familiar  with  the 
name  of  John  W.  Covington,  and  could  not  therefore  be  sup¬ 
posed  to  mistake.  He  hoped  that  this  circumstance  would 
tend  to  remove  suspicion  from  him,  as  indeed,  at  first,  it  did. 
But  another  circumstance  deprived  him  of  the  benefit  of  his 
cunning:  two  persons  swore  that  they  had  heard  him,  in 
speaking  of  John  W.  call  him  John  A  Covington.  Another 
swore  Beauchamp  had  told  him  he  always  mistook  the  name, 
and  said  John  A.  for  John  W 

Mr.  Scott,  a  man  of  high  character,  he  in  whose  house 
Beauchamp  had  lodged,  declared  that  on  the  night  of  the 
murder  he  heard  the  prisoner  descend  the  stairs,  and  leave 
the  house.  His  account  of  Beauchamp’s  conduct  the  morn¬ 
ing  after  the  murder  was  different  from  that  we  have  given 
above,  but  here  he  was  contradicted  by  other  witnesses. 

What  weighed  most  against  Beauchamp  was  the  testimony 
of  one  of  his  neighbours  named  Lowe,  supposed  to  have  been 
suborned  by  Darby.  He  had,  according  to  Beauchamp, 
offered  to  swear,  that  Darby  had  attempted  to  bribe  him, 
to  save  Beauchamp’s  life.  Accordingly  Beauchamp  sent 
him  a  written  statement  of  the  supposed  facts  to  which  he 
desired  him  to  make  oath.  This  document  Lowe  produced 
in  court.  He  also  swore  that  Mrs.  Beauchamp  had  told  him 
that  her  husband  was  guilty.  This  attempt  at  subornation 
of  perjury  adds  a  darker  shade  to  Beauchamp’s  character, 
supposing  his  account  to  be  strictly  true.  However,  he 
was  contending  for  life  . 

Lowe  also  swore  that  he  had  heard  Beauchamp  and  his 
wife  both  threaten  Sharp’s  life,  and  that  on  his  return  from 
Frankfort,  Beauchamp  had  intimated  to  him  that  he  had 
accomplished  his  purpose. 

Many  other  particulars,  on  which  it  would  be  tedious  to 
dwell,  were  given  in  evidence.  Mr.  Pope,  Beauchamp’s 
counsel,  made  a  powerful  defence,  in  which  Darby  was  not 
spared.  This  gave  occasion  for  a  display  of  the  prisoner’s 
pugnacity,  which  even  his  perilous  situation  could  not  quell. 
.  While  the  jury  were  deliberating  on  their  verdict  Mr.  Pope 
left  the  court  and  at  the  door  met  Darby,  who  assaulted  him 
with  a  cane.  Beauchamp  saw  this  from  the  bar,  and  his 
choler  boiled  over.  He  sprang  from  the  bar,  and  rushed  out 
to  attack  Darby,  dragging  two  persons  who  held  his  arms 
after  him.  He  was  overpowered  and  forced  back,  and  at  the 


J.  0.  BEAUCHAMP. 


305 


same  time  Darby  was  borne  away  by  the  crowd.  So  far  had 
anger  prevailed  over  better  feelings,  that  Beauchamp  scarcely 
heard  the  sentence  of  death,  which  was  immediately  pro¬ 
nounced. 

It  was  intended  to  have-  indicted  Mrs.  Beauchamp  as  an 
accessary  before  the  fact,  and  Lowe  made  oath  that  she  had 
confessed  to  him  that  she  had  devised  and  instigated  the 
assassination.  This  tale  the  justices  utterly  disregarded  and 
refused  to  commit  her  for  trial. 

It  was  intimated  to  Beauchamp  while  in  prison  that  governor 
Desha  would  pardon  him,  if  he  would  accuse  some  of  his  politi¬ 
cal  opponents  as  his  accomplices.  He  was  desired  to  say  that 
there  had  been  a  conspiracy  to  assassinate  Desha,  and  seve¬ 
ral  of  the  most  distinguished  supporters  of  his  administration. 
The  love  of  life  prevailed  on  the  wretched  young  man  to 
accede  to  this  base  proposal:  he  accused  Darby,  and  agreed, 
as  soon  as  he  should  be  pardoned,  to  accuse  any  other  persons 
Desha  might  indicate.  Beauchamp,  to  the  last  hour  of  his 
life,  never  doubted  that  this  proposal  emanated  from  Desha; 
but  though  there  is  abundant  proof  of  the  weakness  of  that 
unfortunate  governor,  we  have  no  reason  to  believe  him  capa¬ 
ble  of  such  wickedness. 

Beauchamp  had  written  his  accusation  of  Darby,  and  it  was 
lying  on  the  table  before  him  in  prison,  when  Darby  came  in 
to  see  him.  Several  others  were  present.  Beauchamp  could 
not  resist  the  temptation  to  torment  his  enemy,  and  therefore 
accused  him  to  his  face,  with  great  vehemence,  of  having  been 
present,  aiding  and  abetting  in  the  murder.  The  solemn 
accusations  and  bitter  reproaches  cast  on  him  by  the  convict 
overwhelmed  Darby  with  confusion,  and  he  went  away  firmly 
persuaded  that  Beauchamp  would  die  avowing  that  he  was  an 
accomplice  in  the  assassination.  His  friends  too,  were  greatly 
disconcerted.  Beauchamp  soon  repented  this  ebullition  of 
ill  feeling,  and  in  the  memoir  he  left  behind  him  completely 
exonorated  Darby  from  the  charge. 

Mrs.  Beauchamp  accompanied  her  husband  from  the  court 
to  the  prison,  and  after  his  conviction  never  left  him.  The 
same  high  but  misguided  feelings,  that  had  made  her  so  thirst 
for  the  blood  of  Sharp,  impelled  her  to  share  Beauchamp’s 
fate.  She  also  persuaded  Beauchamp  to  avoid  the  ignominy 
of  a  public  execution  by  suicide,  nor,  as  he  had  always  been 
devoted  to  her,  did  he  deny  this  last  request.  They  had  an 
ounce  phial  of  laudanum,  which  Mrs.  Beauchamp  divided 
into  two  equal  portions,  with  as  much  composure  as  she  had 


306 


J.  0.  BEAUCHAMP. 


ever  poured  out  a  glass  of  wine.  Then,  having  prayed  their 
Maker  to  permit  the  action,  if  done  against  his  will,  they 
drank  the  deadly  draught,  and  laid  down  in  each  others  arms 
to  die.  So  fully  had  they  persuaded  themselves  that  they 
should  awake  in  Paradise  that  they  could  not  refrain  from 
singing  for  joy. 

This  desperate  and  wicked  attempt  was  not  successful. 
They  lay  for  hours  expecting  to  drop  asleep,  to  wake  no  more. 
This  time  they  spent  in  prayer;  and  in  the  fury  of  his  delirium 
Beauchamp  shouted  aloud  and  awakened  all  within  reach, 
declaring  that  his  sins  were  forgiven.  At  last  his  wife  slept, 
but  strange  to  tell,  twenty-four  hours  passed  away,  and  the 
laudanum  had  had  no  material  effect  on  Beauchamp.  Mrs. 
Beauchamp  awoke,  and  after  vomiting,  took  a  second  potion, 
but  all  was  of  no  avail. 

Beauchamp  now  tried  to  persuade  his  wife  to  live,  and  to 
let  the  law  take  its  course  with  him,  but  she  declared  that 
he  should  not  be  buried  before  she  would  follow  him,  even  if 
she  should  be  obliged  to  starve  herself.  Wherefore  he  yield¬ 
ed  to  her  earnest  entreaty,  that  they  should  stab  themselves 
and  die  together.  He  then  wrote  directions  for  their  inter¬ 
ment,  that  they  should  both  be  buried  in  one  coffin,  his  wife 
to  be  folded  in  his  arms. 

On  the  morning  of  the  fifth  of  June,  eighteen  hundred  and 
twenty-six,  the  drums  were  heard  beating  in  the  streets  of 
Frankfort,  and  a  vast  multitude  were  hurrying  to  the  gibbet 
which  was  erected,  black  and  ominous,  on  a  hill  near  the 
town. 

At  ten  o’clock  there  was  but  one  person  in  the  same  cell 
with  the  Beauchamps,  the  dungeon  was  feebly  lighted  with 
one  candle:  its  only  entrance  was  through  a  trapdoor  above. 

About  eleven  o’clock  Mrs.  Beauchamp  desired  the  guard 
to  leave  the  cell  a  few  moments  that  she  might  rise,  and  dress. 
He  did  so.  He  had  scarcely  got  out  of  the  dungeon  when 
he  heard  a  deep  sigh,  and  Beauchamp  called  him  back.  He 
went  down  and  found  Beauchamp  lying  on  his  back,  in  earnest 
prayer.  His  wife  was  beside  him,  with  her  arms  round  his  body. 
IV ot  thinking  anything  serious  had  happened  the  guard  sat  down 
in  silence  till  Beauchamp  had  finished  his  prayer.  u  Tell  my 
father,”  he  then  said,  u  that  we  are  going  straight  to  heaven — 
we  are  dying.”  u  No,  I  reckon  not,”  replied  the  guard. 
“  Yes,”  said  Beauchamp,  u  it  is  so;  we  have  killed  ourselves.” 
The  man  then  saw  that  Mrs.  Beauchamp  held  a  bloody 


J.  0.  BEAUCHAMP. 


307 


knife  in  her  hand  and  asked  where  they  got  it.  Both  answer¬ 
ed  that  they  had  long  kept  it  concealed  for  the  occasion. 
They  had  both  stabbed  themselves,  but  neither  groaned  or 
showed  any  sign  of  pain.  Beauchamp  said  that  he  had  struck 
himself  first  and  that  his  wife  had  then  wrested  the  knife  from 
him,  and  plunged  it  into  her  own  body.  He  added  that  he 
feared  his  wound  was  not  mortal  and  begged  the  guard  to  get 
him  some  laudanum. 

The  jailor  came,  and  Mrs.  Beauchamp  was  removed  into 
another  apartment,  without  any  resistance  on  her  part.  To 
those  who  questioned  her  she  replied,  u  I  struck  the  fatal 
blow  myself,  and  am  dying  for  my  dear  husband.”  She  now 
suffered  violent  pain,  and  screamed  so  loudly  that  Beauchamp, 
heard  her  in  his  dungeon.  He  wrote  to  her  as  follows: 

“  Your  husband  is  dying  happy!  For  you  I  lived — for  you 
I  die!  I  hear  you  groan.  I  hope  you  may  yet  be  recovered — 
if  you  are,  live  till  it  is  God’s  will  to  take  you,  and  prepare 
to  meet  me  in  a  better  world - Your  dying  husband. 

My  beloved  Anna.  J.  0.  Beauchamp.” 

It  was  now  determined  to  take  him  to  the  gallows  as  soon 
as  possible.  As  they  were  carrying  him  out  of  the  house  he 
begged  to  see  his  wife,  but  the  physicians  said  she  was  not 
badly  hurt,  and  would  soon  recover.  The  officers  objected 
to  stopping.  He  said  it  was  cruel,  and  they  then  carried  him 
into  the  room  where  she  was  dying,  and  laid  him  beside  her. 
He  put  his  hand  on  her  face  and  affectionately  asked  her  if 
she  knew  him,  but  she  could  not  answer.  “  Physicians,”  he 
said,  “  you  have  deceived  me,  she  is  dying.”  Then,  to  the 
ladies,  “  From  you,  ladies,  I  demand  a  tear  of  sympathy.” 
He  held  Mrs.  Beauchamp’s  pulse  till  he  felt  its  last  throb 
and  then  said,  u  Farewell,  child  of  Sorrow — farewell  victim 
of  persecution  and  misfortune!  You  are  now  safe  from  the 
tongue  of  slander.  For  you  I  lived — for  you  I  die.  He 
kissed  her  lips  and  said  he  was  ready. 

As  he  was  too  weak  to  sit  up  on  his  coffin  a  covered  wagon 
was  prepared  to  convey  him  to  the  gallows.  As  the  procession 
proceeded  he  expressed  his  confident  hope  of  a  happy  immor¬ 
tality  to  the  attending  clergymen.  The  drums  beat  as  he 
went  along  and  he  observed  that  the  music  was  delightful  and 
that  he  had  never  moved  more  cheerfully.  He  continued 
waving  his  hand  to  the  ladies  at  the  windows  till  the  process 
sion  got  ouj  of  the  town 


308 


J.  0.  BEAUCHAMP. 


He  was  unmoved  at  the  sight  of  his  coffin  under  the  gallows, 
and  at  every  pause  in  the  conversation  expressed  his  impa¬ 
tience,.  He  was  then  assisted  to  get  upon  his  coffin  in  the 
cart  under  the  gallows  and  supported  there.  This  done  he 
asked  for  water  and  that  the  music  would  play  Bonaparte’s 
retreat  from  Moscow.  It  was  done.  He  then  gave  the 
signal,  and  ended  his  short  and  evil  life.  His  body  was  given 
to  his  father  who  buried  it  pursuant  to  his  directions. 

Thus  ended  the  tragedy:  a  man  of  the  first  talents  had 
fallen,  as  he  deserved,  for  his  crimes,  and  another,  who  might 
have  equalled  him  in  rank,  and  who  might  have  been  an  honor 
to  his  native  state,  was  cut  off  in  the  flower  of  his  age.  We 
know  not  which  ought  to  be  held  in  most  abhorrence.  Beau¬ 
champ  had  no  right  to  avenge  the  wrongs  of  another,  or  even 
his  own,  with  his  own  hand,  and  every  well-constituted  mind 
must  revolt  at  an  assassination  so  treacherous  and  cruel  as 
that  of  Sharp.  The  destruction  of  his  own  life  was  a  sin  of 
no  less  magnitude.  It  may  be  said  in  his  excuse  that  he  was 
actuated  by  a  sense  of  honor  highly  commendable,  had  it  not 
been  misdirected,  and  that  he  was  instigated  by  a  woman  he 
fondly  loved. 

On  the  other  hand  there  was  never  villainy  more  cruel, 
more  cowardly,  more  atrocious,  than  that  of  Colonel  Sharp. 
There  was  no  palliating  circumstance — not  even  the  heat  of 
young  blood.  He  deserved  all  he  got,  and  more.  As  to  Mrs. 
Beauchamp,  we  have  not  the  heart  to  blame  her.  It  is  idle 
to  say  that  the  laws  afford  redress  for  all  injuries.  That  for 
such  as  hers,  is  absolute  insult.  The  woman  who  could 
take  the  price  of  her  dishonor,  who  would  barter  virtue  for 
gold,  is  unfit  to  live.  For  a  petty  theft  a  man  is  sent  to  the 
penitentiary,  but  for  stealing  the  fair  fame,  the  whole  hope 
of  earthly  happiness  of  woman,  for  crushing  her  heart  in  the 
spring  of  life,  for  violated  oaths,  and  diabolical  treachery,  he — 
pays  damages!  Seduction  should  be  made  criminal  in  law. 

Perhaps  our  readers  will  not  be  displeased  to  see  a  specimen 
ot  the  poetic  powers  of  the  Beauchamps. 

The  following  was  written  by  Beauchamp  in  prison,  on  be¬ 
ing  awakened  by  a  vision  of  his  wife  before  she  joined  him. 

Daughter  of  Grief,  thy  spirit  moves 
In  every  whistling  wind  that  roves 
Across  my  prison  grates ; 

It  bids  my  fainting  soul  to  bear 
And  with  its  sister  spirit  soar 
Aloft  to  Heaven’s  gates. 


J.  0.  BEAUCHAMP. 


809 


In  visions  bright  it  hovers  round 
And  whispers  the  delightful  sound, 

“  Peace  to  thy  troubled  mind-  - 
*  What  though  unfeeling  worlds  unite 
To  vent  on  thee  their  venomed  spite. 

Thy  Anna’s  heart  is  kind.” 

And  oft  when  visions  thus  arouse 
Thy  husband’s  fondest  hopes,  he  vows 
’T  is  no  delusive  dream, 

•  And  springing  from  his  bed  of  grief, 

He  finds  a  moment’s  sweet  relief, 

Though  round  him  horrors  gleam. 

Still,  still,  when  calm  reflection  reigns, 

My  soul  its  sweet  repose  regains 
In  this  triumphant  thought ; 

That  in  thy  love,  though  absent  far, 

My  soul  has  laid  in  store  for  her 
Of  bliss  her  sweetest  draught. 

Then  rave  ye  angry  storms  of  fate ! 

And  sound  your  loudest  blasts  of  hate, 

Ye  perjured  reptile  worms. 

Disdaining  aught  to  yield,  my  soul 
Shall  gladly  fly  this  earthly  goal, 

Safe  to  my  Anna’s  arms. 

Prisons  for  clay — the  immortal  soul 
Triumphant  soars,  disdains  control, 

And  mocks  a  vengeful  world ! 

The  shaft ’s  too  late,  I  soar  too  high, 

I  rise  in  triumph  to  the  sky, 

Not  caring  whence ’t  was  hurled. 

No,  never  let  the  world  espy 
A  tear  in  thy  angelic  eye — 

Be  firm  as  him  you  love : 

O,  wherefore  pine  to  hear  my  knell  ? 

Has  not  God  ordered  all  things  well  ? 

We  ’ll  meet  in  heaven  above ! 

The  following  epitaph  was  written  by  Mrs.  Beauchamp  to 
be  engraved  on  their  tombstone. 

Entombed  below  in  other’s  arms 

The  husband  and  the  wife  repose, 

Safe  from  life’s  never  ending  storms, 

Secure  from  all  their  cruel  foes. 


310  ^  CHARLES  GIBBS,  AND 

A  child  of  evil  fate  she  lived — 

A  villain’s  wiles  her  peace  had  crossed — 

The  husband  of  her  heart  revived 

The  happiness  she  long  had  lost.  » 

He  heard  her  tale  of  matchless  wo, 

And  burning  for  revenge  arose ; 

He  laid  her  base  betrayer  low 

And  struck  dismay  to  Virtue’s  foes. 

; 

Reader,  if  Honor’s  generous  blood 

E’er  warmed  thy  heart,  here  drop  a  tear} 

And  let  the  sympathetic  flood 

Deep  in  thy  mind  its  traces  wear. 

A  brother  or  a  sister  thou — 

Dishonored  see  thy  sister  dear } 

Then  turn  and  see  the  villain  low, 

And  here  let  fall  a  grateful  tear. 

Daughters  of  Virtue,  grant  the  tear 

That  Love  and  honor’s  tomb  may  claims 

In  your  defence  the  husband  here 

Laid  down  in  youth  his  life  and  fame. 

His  wife  disdained  a  life  forlorn 

Reft  from  her  heart’s  beloved  lord ; 

Then,  reader,  here  their  fortunes  mourn 

Who  for  their  love  their  lifeblood  poured. 


CHARLES  GIBBS,  otherwise  JAMES  D.  JEFFERS, 
AND  THOMAS  I.  WANSLEY. 

This  atrocious  villain  was  a  native  of  Providence  in  Rhode 
Island.  His  true  name  was  James  D.  Jeffers,  but  as  he  was 
more  generally  known  as  Charles  Gibbs,  we  shall  give  him 
that  appellation.  His  adventures,  excepting  the  crime  for 
which  he  was  finally  hanged,  are  only  known  from  his  own 
admissions  while  under  sentence  of  death,  and  our  readers 
must  judge  for  themselves  how  far  they  are  to  be  credited. 

It  appears  from  evidence  legally  taken,  that  the  brig  Vine¬ 
yard  sailed  from  New  Orleans  about  the  first  of  November, 


THOMAS  I.  WANSLEY* 


311 


eighteen  hundred  and  thirty,  for  Philadelphia.  William 
Thornby  was  the  master  of  the  vessel,  and  William  Rob¬ 
erts  the  mate.  The  crew  consisted  of  seven  persons,  viz. 
Charles  Gibbs,  John  Brownrigg,  Robert  Dawes,  Henry  At¬ 
well,  James  Talbot,  A.  Church,  and  Thomas  I*  Wansley,  a 
young  negro  native  of  Delaware,  who  acted  as  cook. 

When  the  Vineyard  had  been  five  days  at  sea,  Wansley 
made  it  known  to  the  crew  that  there  were  fifty  thousand 
dollars  in  specie  on  board  This  information  excited  their 
cupidity,  and  induced  them  to  consult  on  the  means  of  getting 
the  money  into  their  own  hands.  Many  conversations  took 
place  on  the  subject,  and  while  these  were  going  on,  Dawes, 
who  was  a  mere  boy,  was  sent  to  converse  with  the  officers, 
in  order  to  divert  their  attention  from  what  was  passing. 
Finally  it  was  resolved ,  that  as  the  master  and  mate  . were  old 
men,  it  was  time  they  should  die  and  make  room  for  the  rising 
generation.  Moreover,  they  were  of  opinion  that  as  the  mate 
was  of  a  peevish  disposition,  he  deserved  death.  Yet,  to  do 
no  man  injustice,  it  does  not  appear  that  Brownrigg  or  Talbot 
had  any  part  in  these  deliberations,  or  in  the  foul  deed  that 
resulted  from  them. 

The  conspirators  agreed  to  commit  the  greatest  earthly 
crimes,  murder  and  piracy,  on  the  night  of  the  twenty-third. 
The  murder  of  the  master  was  assigned  to  Gibbs  and  Wansley ; 
that  of  the  mate  to  Atwell  and  Church. 

The  vessel  was  off  Cape  Hatteras,  when  the  time  fixed 
for  the  murder  arrived.  The  master  was  standing  on  the 
quarter  deck,  Dawes  had  the  helm,*and  Brownrigg  was  aloft. 
Dawes  called  Wansley  aft  to  trim  the  light  in  the  binacle. 
The  black  moved  as  if  to  obey,  but  coming  behind  Mr.  Thorn¬ 
by,  struck  him  on  the  back  of  the  neck  with  the  pump  brake, 
so  that  he  fell  forward,  crying  u  murder!”  Wansley  repeated 
his  blows  till  the  master  was  dead,  and  then,  with  the  assist¬ 
ance  of  Gibbs,  threw  the  body  overboard.  While  this  deed 
of  darkness  was  being  done,  the  mate,  aroused  by  the  noise, 
came  up  the  companion  ladder  from  the  cabin.  Atwell  and 
Church  were  waiting  for  him  at  the  top  of  the  ladder,  and  one 
of  them  struck  him  down  with  a  club;  but  the  blow  did  not 
kill  him.  Gibbs  followed  to  complete  the  work,  but  not  being 
able  to  find  the  mate  in  the  dark,  returned  to  the  deck  for  the 
binacle  light.  With  this  he  descended  and  laid  hands  on 
the  victim,  but  was  not  able  to  overcome  him,  even  with  the 
,  aid  of  Atwell;  but  finally,  with  the  assistance  of  Church,  he 
was  dragged  on  deck,  beaten  and  thrown  overboard.  He 


312 


CHARLES  GIBBS  AND 


was  not  yet  dead,  and  swam  after  the  vessel  four  or  five  min¬ 
utes,  crying  for  help,  before  he  sank.  All  these  transactions- 
were  witnessed  by  the  boy  Dawes,  who  had  a  passive,  if  not 
an  active  part  in  them. 

The  pirates  then  took  possession  of  the  vessel,  and  W ansley 
busied  himself  in  wiping  up  the  blood  that  had  been  spilled  on 
deck,  declaring,  with  an  oath,  that  though  be  had  heard  that 
the  stains  of  the  blood  of  a  murdered  person  could  not  be 
effaced,  he  would  wipe  away  these.  Then,  after  drinking  all 
round,  they  got  up  the  money.  It  was  distributed  in  equal 
portions  to  all  on  board;  Brownrigg  and  Talbot  being  assured 
that  if  they  would  keep  the  secret,  and  share  the  plunder,  they 
should  receive  no  injury. 

They  then  steered  a  northeasterly  course  toward  Long 
Island,  till  they  came  within  fifteen  or  twenty  miles  of  South- 
Hampton  Light,  where  they  resolved  to  leave  the  vessel  in  the 
boats,  though  the  wind  was  blowing  hard.  Atwell  scuttled 
the  brig  and  got  into  the  jolly  boat  with  Church  and  Talbot, 
while  Gibbs,  Wansley,  Dawes  and  Brownrigg,  put  off  in  the 
long  boat.  The  jolly  boat  swamped  on  a  bar  two  miles  from 
the  shore,  and  all  on  board  were  drowned.  The  long  boat 
was  in  great  danger  also,  and  was  only  saved  from  a  like  fate 
by  throwing  over  several  bags  of  specie.  Nevertheless,  the 
crew  at  last  got  on  shore  on  Pelican  Island,  where  they  buried 
their  money,  and  found  a  sportsman  who  told  them  where  they 
were.  They  then  crossed  to  Great  Barn  Island,  and  went  to 
the  house  of  a  Mr.  Johnson,  to  whom  Brownrigg  gave  the 
proper  information.  Thence  they  went  to  the  house  of  a 
Mr.  Leonard  where  they  procured  a  wagon  to  carry  them 
farther.  As  they  were  about  to  get  in,  Brownrigg  cried  aloud 
that  they  might  go  whither  they  pleased,  but  he  would  not 
accompany  them,  for  they  were  murderers.  On  hearing  this 
Mr.  Leonard  sent  for  a  magistrate,  and  Gibbs  and  Dawes  were 
apprehended.  Wansley  escaped  into  the  woods,  but  was 
followed  and  soon  taken. 

The  evidence  of  the  guilt  of  the  prisoners  was  full  and  con¬ 
clusive.  Their  own  confession  of  the  crime,  gratuitously 
made  to  Messrs.  Merritt  and  Stevenson,  who  had  the  custody 
of  them  from  Flatbush  to  New  York,  could  have  left  not  the 
shadow  of  a  doubt  on  the  mind  of  any  person  who  heard 
the  testimony  of  those  officers.  Wansley  told  the  whole 
story,  occasionally  prompted  by  Gibbs,  and  both  admitted 
that  Brownrigg  was  innocent  of  any  participation  in  their 
crimes.  Their  confession  was  not,  however,  so  favorable  to 
Dawes.  * 


THOMAS  I.  WANSLEY. 


3 13 


Qibbs  was  arraigned  for  the  murder  of  William  Roberts, 
and  Wansley  for  that  of  William  Thornby.  They  were  both 
found  guilty,  and  the  district  attorney  moved  for  judgment 
on  the  verdict.  There  was  nothimg  peculiar  in  their  deport¬ 
ment  during  the  trial.  The  iron  visage  of  Gibbs  was  occa¬ 
sionally  darkened  with  a  transient  emotion,  but  he  had  evi¬ 
dently  abandoned  all  hope  of  escape,  and  sat  the  greater  part 
of  the  time  with  his  hands  between  his  knees,  calmly  surveying 
the  scene  before  him. — Wansley  was  more  agitated,,  and 
trembled  visibly  when  he  rose  to  hear  the  verdict  of  the  jury. 

The  j  udge  stated  to  Wansley  in  the  usual  form,  the  substance 
of  the  charge  on  which  he  had  been  indicted,  arraigned  and 
found  guilty,  and  asked  him  the  usual  question.  Wansley 
said  he  would  say  a  few  words,  though  he  did  not  know 
that  it  would  be  of  any  use  to  him.  He  said  he  had  al¬ 
ways  known  that  a  difference  of  color  produced  a  difference 
of  treatment,  where  white  men  were  the  judges.  They  had 
taken  the  blacks  from  their  own  country.  There  was  an 
antipathy,  as  he  knew,  entertained  by  the  whites  against 
colored  persons.  He  had  found  it  so  himself,  both  as  regarded 
the  witnesses  and  jurors  in  this  case,  and  in  the  behavior  of  the 
district  attorney:  Much  false  testimony  had  been  given,  as 
he  of  course  had  the  means  of  knowing.  The  witnesses 
would  not  disclose  the  manner  in  which  he  first  came  to  give 
information  as  to  the  money  on  board.  Two  indictments 
were  found  against  him,  of  the  offence  charged  in  one  of 
which,  he  was  guiltless.  He  guessed  he  had  said  enough. 

The  court  told  him  to  proceed,  if  there  was  anything  else 
he  wished  to  say.  He  then  stated  that  he  was  the  first  man 
who  went  on  board  of  the  Vineyard.  He  saw  the  money 
brought  on  board.  When  a  conversation  arose  among  the 
crew,  as  to  what  amount  of  money  each  had,  he  observed,  in 
the  way  of  conversation,  that  there  was  plenty  on  board. 
Atwell  said,  “then  let’s  have  it.”  This  remark  he  took 
for  a  mere  jest,  and  considered  it  such  until  a  week  after,  when 
Atwell  told  him  that  a  conspiracy  had  been  formed;  that  they 
were  the  strongest  party;  that  they  meant  to  take  the  lives 
of  the  officers,  and  of  such  of  the  men  as  would  not  jein  them. 
He  felt  no  inclination  to  do  so,  and  spoke  to  Church  about 
it  next  day.  Church  was  the  only  one  of  the  crew  he 
had  known  before  he  shipped  in  the  Vineyard.  Church 
advised  him  not  to  inform  against  the  conspirators.  If  he 
had  done  so  he  would  have  only  been  in  the  same  situation  in 
which  he  was  at  present.  He  had  nothing  more  to  say. 


314 


CHARLES  GIBBS  AND 


He  was  quite  coherent  in  his  remarks,  and  distinct  in  his. 
utterance;  but  there  was  nothing  impudent  in  his  demeanor. 
He  had  naturally  a  sullen  smile  on  his  countenance. 

Gibbs  Stpoke  fluently,  rapidly,  and  with  propriety.  He  said 
he  wished  to  state  how  far  he  was  guilty,  and  how  far  innocent. 
Wnen  he  went  on  board  he  knew  only  Church  and  Dawes. 
He  was  asked  by  Harry  Atwood  (so  he  pronounced  the  name) 
to  join  the  conspiracy,  and  at  first  refused  to  do  so.  But 
he  subsequently  agreed  to  it.  So  did  all  the  crew,  including 
Brownrigg  and  Dawes.'  He  afterwards  began  to  think  that 
it  was  a  dreadful  thing  to  take  a  man’s  life,  and  declared  that 
he  would  not  assent  to  killing  the  captain  and  mate;  that  he 
would  break  any  man’s  nose  who  proposed  it  to  him.  He 
persuaded  all  of  them  to  abandon  this  part  of  the  project, 
except  Church  and  Dawes;  and  their  opposition  was  such 
that  he  yielded.  Brownrigg  agreed  to  call  up  the  captain, 
and  did  so.  The  mate  was  thrown  overboard  by  Church  and 
Dawes,  He  [Gibbs]  protested  before  God  that  he  was  inno¬ 
cent  of  the  murder  of  the  mate.  He  did  help  to  throw  the 
captain  overboard. 

'  The  judge  then  proceeded  to  pass  sentence.  What  had 
fallen  from  the  prisoners,  he  said,  might  excite  some  feeling, 
but  only  tended  to  confirm  the  justice  of  their  sentence.  He 
observed  to  Wansley  that  whatever  prejudice  he  might  imag¬ 
ine  existed,  growing  out  of  the  distinctions  of  color,  the  utmost 
impartiality  had  been  observed  in  his  case.  Admitting  that 
both  Brownrigg  and  Dawes  had  sworn  falsely,  the  prisoners’ 
own  words,  just  uttered,  admitted  that  they  had  been  guilty 
of  a  most  horrible  crime,  that  of  taking  human  life,  without 
provocation.  If  the  Court  could  entertain  a  doubt  that,  in 
the  case  of  Wansley,  the  least  injustice  had  been  done,  or 
the  slightest  advantage  withheld  from  him,  they  would  afford 
him  another  opportunity  of  being  tried.  But  there  was  not 
a  shadow  of  such  a  doubt. 

When  the  accused  denies  the  charges  against  him,  courts 
must  proceed  upon  testimony.  There  is  no  other  mode  of 
arriving  at  a  conclusion.  Sometimes,  with  all  the  care  that 
may  be  taken,  they  may  err;  and  it  is  most  distressing  for 
them  to  execute  their  painful  duty  of  pronouncing  sentence, 
when  they  entertain  the  supposition  that  a  mistake  may  have 
been  made  in  convicting.  But  here  there  was  no  such 
embarrassment.  The  prisoners  stood,  for  the  last  time,  in 
the  presence  of  an  earthly  tribunal,  and  admitted  their  deep 
and  unequivocal  guilt.  In  ordinary  cases  of  the  kind,  there 


THOMAS  I.  WANSLEY. 


315 


were  some  circumstances  of  palliation,  or  such  as  tended 
to  excite  sympathy.  The  offender  may  have  been  led  to 
commit  the  act  by  sudden  passion,  or  strong  resentment 
newly  awakened;  there  may  have  been  violent  provocation 
to  the  deed;  or  other  circumstances,  which  may  take  away 
the  control  of  reason  for  the  time,  may  mitigate  the  turpitude 
of  the  offence.  It  was  not  so  here.  What  cause  of  offenpe 
had  either  the  captain  or  mate  ever  given  to  the  prisoners? 
They  trusted  in  them  as  able  seamen  and  good  citizens,  and 
confided  to  them  their  lives  and  property.  A  sum  of  money 
was  the  temptation,  and  over  the  scheme  to  obtain  it  they  had 
deliberated  long  and  cautiously — they  had  slept  upon  it,  and 
reasoned  long  about  it.  If  what  Gibbs  had  stated  were  true, 
and  though  he  did  not  strike  the  mate,  still  he  was  equally 
guilty  as  an  abettor,  in  the  eye  of  the  law,  and  in  his  own 
conscience.  He  might  have  stretched  out  his  hand  and  saved 
him,  when  he  stood  by  assisting  and  encouraging  his  mur¬ 
derers,  and  the  unfortunate  man  was  petitioning  in  his  agony 
for  mercy. 

Notwithstanding  all  this,  the  judge  said,  he  could  not  be¬ 
lieve  the  prisoners  so  wholly  callous,  and  incapable  of  feeling 
contrition,  a$  not  to  have  their  hearts  softened  and  awakened 
to  repentant  emotion  when  they  looked  back  upon  their 
unprovoked  outrage.  They  were  American  citizens.  They 
had  shown  in  what  they  had  said  in  court  this  day,  that 
they  were  possessed  of  a  more  than  ordinary  share  of  in¬ 
telligence,  and  must  have  participated  to  some  extent  in  the 
blessings  of  education  so  widely  scattered  over  this  country. 
They  well  understood  their  civil  duties  and  responsibilities. 
The  court  would  believe  them  when  they  stated,  that  up  to  a 
certain  time,  they  were  averse  to  the  commission  of  the 
crime.  In  youth  their  early  feelings  must  have  been  taught 
to  revolt,  when  they  heard  of  the  commission  of  murders, 
mutinies  and  robberies.  Yet  now,  in  mature  manhood,  they 
stood  convicted  of  all.  When  they  entered  on  the  hazardous 
profession  they  had  adopted,  those  crimes  must  have  presented 
themselves  as  the  most  dangerous  against  which  they  would 
have  to  guard;  nor  could  they  then  have  dreamed  of  perpe¬ 
trating  them.  But  the  evidence  convicted  them  of  every 
offence  laid  in  the  indictment,  of  murder,  mutiny,  robbery  on 
the  high  seas,  and  scuttling  the  vessel;  the  penalty  for  each 
of  which  is  death.  If  they  had  saved  the  lives  of  the  offi¬ 
cers.  and  the  cargo  likewise,  and  had  scuttled  the  vessel,  their 
condemnation  would  have  been  the  same. 


316 


CHARLES  GIBBS  AND 


He  then  proceeded  to  pass  sentence  on  them  severally,  that 
each  should  be  taken  from  the  place  where  they  then  were, 
and  thence  to  the  place  of  confinement,  and  should  be 
hanged  by  the  neck  till  dead;  and  that  the  marshal  of  the 
Southern  District  of  New  York  should  see  this  sentence 
carried  into  execution  on  the  twenty-second  day  of  April  fol¬ 
lowing  between  the  hours  of  ten  and  four  o’clock. 

He  observed  that  the  only  matter  which  the  court  had  had 
under  deliberation,  was  as  to  the  time  of  executing  the  sen¬ 
tence.  In  many  countries  this  follows  the  sentence  immedi¬ 
ately;  nor  was  there  any  legal  reason  why  they  should  not 
be  forthwith  conveyed  to  the  scaffold,  from  the  dock  where 
they  stood,  to  undergo  their  fate.  The  court  had  allowed 
them  six  weeks  for  preparation;  but  it  was  by  no  means  with 
a  view  of  allowing  them  to  indulge  in  a  hope  of  pardon.  They 
must  not  let  their  minds  dwell  on  it  for  a  moment.  Their 
death  was  inevitable.  It  was  as  certain  as  that  they  were  now 
living  men,  that  by  the  twenty-second  of  April  they  must  die. 

He  asked  if  it  was  not  an  affecting  subject  of  consideration 
for  them,  to  hear  this  inevitable  decree — did  they  realize, 
apply  and  understand  it?  The  court  hardly  knew  in  what 
manner  to  present  to  them  its  closing  remarks,  or  what  view 
of  their  case  would  most  penetrate  and  melt  their  hearts. 
Surely  it  must  sometimes  have  presented  itself  to  their  minds, 
that  it  is  a  dreadful  thing  to  die.  Even  in  age,  when  the 
faculties  have  lost  all  their  vigor,  and  the  mind  and  body 
perform  their  functions  most  feebly,  it  is  natural  to  cling  to 
life.  Doubly  so,  in  the  fulness  of  strength  and  manhood. 
When  laid  on  the  bed  of  sickness,  though  surrounded  by 
the  nearest  and  dearest  friends,  attended  with  every  com¬ 
fort  and  every  appliance  to  resist  the  last  enemy,  it  is  felt  to 
be  a  hard  thing  to  die. — In  their  perilous  profession,  in  which  • 
they  must  sometime  have  been  exposed  to  the  dangers  of 
tempests,  rocks  and  shipwrecks,  they  must  have  felt  the 
power  of  that  principle  which  induced  them  to  make  every 
exertion  to  save  their  lives,  by  the  most  desperate  efforts 
Even  in  the  uproar  and  excitement  of  battle,  where  all  the 
angry  passions  are  aroused,  the  principle  of  self-preservation 
exists  and  operates. 

But  if  the  prisoners  had  never  thought  or  felt  that  it  is  an 
awful  thing  to  die,  he  besought  them  now  to  consider  of  it 
coolly;  and  with  a  steadfast  attention  to  regard  it  singly.  Let 
them  also  consider  what  is  to  come  after  it.  The  humanity 
of  the  marshal  would  afford  them  every  convenience  foi 


THOMAS  I.  WANSLEY.  317  . 

communication  with  pious  men,  such  as  they  might  choose  to 
see.  The  court  had  discharged  its  duty. 

Gibbs  asked  if  he  might  see  his  friends.  The  court  replied, 
that  the  marshal  would  allow  him  every  proper  indulgence. 

Soon  after  his  arrest,  and  before  his  trial,  he  expressed  a 
desire  to  Henry  W.  Merritt,  one  of  the  police  marshals,  to 
make  some  communications  to  a  magistrate  respecting  his 
career  and  crimes.  The  officer  made  known  his  wish  to 
James  Hopson,  Esq.  one  of  the  police  magistrate^  of  New 
York,  and  that  gentleman,  presuming  that  a  developement  of 
the  circumstances  attending  his  piracies  would  be  highly  im¬ 
portant  and  valuable  to  the  mercantile  community,  proceeded 
to  the  prison  at  Bellevue  to  receive  his  confession.  The 
disclosures  made  to  that  gentleman  will  be  found  in  the  sequel. 
The  other  details  presented  in  the  following  narrative,  were 
communicated  to  Mr.  Merritt,  police  officer,  the  deputy 
keeper  of  Bridewell,  and  another  person,  at  different  times; 
and  were  committed  to  paper  by  them  on  the  spot,  very  nearly 
in  his  own  language.  Some  of  them  are  so  strongly  corrob¬ 
orated  by  circumstances,  as  to  leave  hardly  a  doubt  on  the 
minds  of  the  most  skeptical. 

The  first  account  which  he  gave  of  himself  is,  that  his 
father  obtained  a  situation  for  him  in  the  United  States  sloop 
of  war  Hornet,  Captain  Lawrence,  during  the  last  war  with 
England,  in  which  vessel  he  made  two  cruises;  in  the  last  of 
which  she  captured  and  sunk  the  enemy’s  sloop  of  war 
Peacock  off  the  coast  of  Pernambuco,  after  an  engagement 
of  twenty  minutes.  On  the  arrival  of  the  Hornet  in  the 
United  States,  Captain  Lawrence  was  assigned  by  the  gov-4 
ernment  to  the  command  of  the  frigate  Chesapeake,  then 
lying  in  Boston  harbor,  and  Gibbs  accompanied  him  to  that 
ill-fated  vessel  in  the  month  of  April,  eighteen  hundred  and 
thirteen. 

This  statement  of  his  services  was  proved  to  be  false,  and 
acknowledged  as  such  by  himself.  His  motive  for  the  false¬ 
hood  was,  he  said,  to  conceal  his  real  adventures  about 
this  time,  that  his  proper  name  might  not  be  discovered. 
There  is  much  to  corroborate  and  nothing  to  disprove  what 
follows. 

After  his  exchange,  he  abandoned  all  idea  of  following  the 
sea  for  a  subsistence,  went  home  to  Rhode  Island,  and  re¬ 
mained  there  a  few  months,  but  being  unable  to  conquer 
his  propensity  to  roving,  he  entered  on  board  a  ship  bound 
to  New  Orleans  and  thence  to  Stockholm.  On  the  home- 


318 


CHARLES  GIBBS  AND 


ward  passage  they  were  compelled  to  put  into  Bristol, 
England,  in  distress,  where  the  ship  was  condemned,  and  he 
proceeded  to  Liverpool.  He  returned  to  the  United  States  in 
the  ship  Amity,  Captain  Maxwell.  Shortly  after  his  return 
home,  the  death  of  an  uncle  put  him  in  possession  of  about 
two  thousand  dollars,  with  which  he  established  himself  in 
the  grocery  business  in  Boston.  This  undertaking  was  far 
from  being  profitable,  and  he  was  often  under  the  necessity 
of  applying  to  his  father  for  assistance,  which  was  always 
afforded,  accompanied  with  good  advice  and  his  blessing. 
The  stock  was  finally  sold  at  auction,  for  about  nine  hundred 
dollars,  which  he  soon  squandered  in  tippling  houses  and 
among  profligates.  His  father  hearing  of  his  dissipation, 
wrote  affectionately  and  earnestly  to  him  to  come  home,  but 
he  stubbornly  refused,  and  went  to  sea  again,  in  the  ship  John, 
Captain  Brown,  bound  for  the  Island  of  Margaretta. 

After  its  arrival,  he  left  the  ship,  and  entered  on  board 
•he  Colombian  privateer  Maria,  Captain  Bell. — They  cruised 
for  about  two  months  in  the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  around  Cuba, 
but  the  crew  becoming  dissatisfied  in  consequence  of  the  non¬ 
payment  of  their  prize-money,  a  mutiny  arose,  the  crew  took 
possession  of  the  schooner,  and  landed  the  officers  near 
Pensacola.  A  number  of  days  elapsed  before  it  was  finally 
decided  by  them  what  course  to  pursue.  Some  advised  that 
they  should  cruise  as  before,  under  the  Colombian  commis¬ 
sion;  others  proposed  to  hoist  the  Black  Flag.  They  cruised 
for  a  short  time  without  success,  and  it  was  then  unanimously 
determined  to  hoist  the  black  flag  and  declare  war  against  all 
nations.  Their  bloody  purpose  was  not  carried,  however, 
into  immediate  execution.  They  boarded  a  number  of  vessels, 
and  allowed  them  to  pass  unmolested,  there  being  no  spe¬ 
cie  on  board,  and  their  cargoes  not  being  convertible  into 
anything  valuable  to  themselves.  At  last  one  of  the  crew 
named  Antonio,  suggested  that  an  arrangement  could  be 
made  with  a  man  in  Havana,  that  would  be  mutually  benefi¬ 
cial; — that  he  would  receive  all  their  goods,  sell  them,  and 
divide  the  proceeds .  This  suggestion  being  favorably  receiv¬ 
ed,  they  ran  up  within  two  miles  of  Moro  Castle,  and  sent 
Antonio  on  shore  to  see  the  merchant  and  make  a  contract 
with  him.  Previous  to  this,  Gibbs  was  chosen  to  navigate 
the  vessel.  Antonio  succeeded  in  arranging  everything  ac- 
v cording  to  their  wishes,  and  Cape  Antonio  was  appointed  as 
the  place  of  redezvous.  The  merchant  was  to  furnish  drogers 
to  transport  the  goods  to  Havana,  which  was  done  by  him  for 
more  than  three  years. 


THOMAS  I.  WANSLEY. 


319 


The  Maria  now  put  to  sea,  with  a  crew  of  about  fifty 
men,  mostly  Spaniards  and  Americans,  with  every  hope  of 
success.  The  first  vessel  she  fell  in  with  was  the  Indispensa¬ 
ble,  an  English  ship,  bound  to  Havana,  which  was  taken  and 
carried  to  Cape  Antonio.  The  crew  were  immediately 
destroyed:  those  who  resisted  were  hewed  to  pieces:  those 
who  offered  no  resistence,  were  reserved  to  be  shot  and  thrown 
overboard.  Such  was  the  manner  in  which  they  proceeded 
in  all  their  subsequent  captures.  The  unhappy  being  that 
cried  for  mercy,  in  the  hope  that  something  like  humanity  was 
to  be  found  in  the  breasts  even  of -the  worst  of  men,  shared 
the  same  fate  with  him  who  resolved  to  sell  his  life  at  the 
highest  price.  A  French  brig,  with  a  valuable  cargo  of  wine 
and  silk,  was  taken  shortly  after:  the  vessel  was  burnt  and  the 
crew  murdered. 

The  sanguinary  scenes  through  which  Gibbs  had  passed 
now  effectually  wrought  up  his  desperation  to  the  highest 
pitch,  and  being  as  remarkable  for  his  coolness  and  intrepidity 
as  he  was  for  his  skill  in  navigation,  he  was  unanimously 
chosen  to  be  their  leader  in  all  future  enterprises.  To  reap 
a  golden  harvest  without  the  hazard  of  encountering  living 
witnesses  of  their  crimes,  it  was  unanimously  resolved  to 
spare  no  lives,  and  to  burn  and  plunder  without  mercy.  They 
knew  that  the  principle  inculcated  by  the  old  maxim  that 
u  dead  men  tell  no  tales,”  was  the  safe  one  for  them,  and 
they  scrupulously  followed  it. — Gibbs  states  that  he  never 
had  occasion  to  give  orders  to  begin  the  work  of  death.  The 
Spaniards  were  eager  to  accomplish  that  object  without  delay, 
and  generally  every  unhappy  victim  disappeared  in  a  very  few 
minutes  after  they  had  gained  the  deck  of  a  vessel. 

He  now  directed  his  course  towards  the  Bahama  Banks, 
where  they  captured  a  brig,  believed  to  be  the  William  of  New 
York,  from  some  port  in  Mexico,  with  a  cargo  of  furniture, 
destroyed  the  crew,  took  her  to  Cape  Antonio,  and  sent  the 
furniture  and  other  articles  to  their  friend  in  Havana.  Some¬ 
time  during  this  cruise,  the  pirate  was  chased  for  nearly  a 
whole  day  by  a  United  States  ship,  supposed  to  be  the  John 
Adams;  he  hoisted  Patriot  colors,  and  finally  escaped.  In 
the  early  part  of  the  summer  of  eighteen  hundred  and  seven¬ 
teen,  they  took  the  Earl  of  Moira,  an  English  ship  from  Lon¬ 
don,  with  a  cargo  of  dry  goods.  The  crew  were  destroyed, 
the  vessel  burnt,  and  the  goods  carried  to  the  Cape.  There 
they  had  a  settlement  with  their  Havana  friend,  and  the  pro¬ 
ceeds  were  divided  according  to  agreement. 


320 


CHARLES  GIBBS  AND 


Gibbs  then  repaired  to  Havana,  introduced  himself  to  the 
merchant,  and  made  farther  arrangements  for  the  successful 
prosecution  of  his  piracies.  While  there,  he  became  acquaint¬ 
ed  with  many  of  the  English  and  American  naval  officers, 
inquired  respecting  the  success  of  their  various  expeditions 
for  the  suppression  of  piracy,  and  all  their  intended  move¬ 
ments. 

On  return  to  Cape  Antonio,  he  found  his  comrades  in  a 
state  of  mutiny  and  rebellion,  and  that  several  of  them  had 
been  killed. — His  energy  checked  the  disturbance,  and  all 
agreed  to  submit  to  his  orders,  and  put  any  one  to  death 
who  should  dare  to  disobey  them. 

During  the  cruise  which  was  made  in  the- latter  part  of 
eighteen  hundred  and  seventeen,  and  the  beginning  of  eighteen 
hundred  and  eighteen,  a  Dutch  ship  from  Curacoa  was  cap¬ 
tured,  with  a  cargo  of  West  India  goods,  and  a  quantity  of 
silver  plate.  The  passengers  and  crew,  to  the  number  of 
thirty,  were  all  destroyed,  with  the  exception  of  a  young 
female  about  seventeen,  who  fell  upon  her  knees  and  implored 
Gibbs  to  save  her  life.  The  appeal  was  successful,  and  he 
promised  to  save  her,  though  he  knew  it  would  lead  to  danger¬ 
ous  consequences  among  his  crew.  She  was  carried  to 
Cape  Antonio,  and  kept  there  about  two  months ;  but  the  dissatis¬ 
faction  increased  until  it  broke  out  at  last  into  open  mutiny,  and 
one  of  the  pirates  was  shot  by  Gibbs  for  daring  to  lay  hold 
of  her  with  a  view  of  beating  out  her  brains.  Gibbs  was 
compelled  in  the  end  to  submit  her  fate  to  a  council  of  war, 
at  which  it  was  decided  that  the  preservation  of  their  own  lives 
made  her  sacrifice  indispensable.  He  therefore  acquiesced 
in  the  decision,  and  gave  orders  to  have  her  destroyed  by 
poison,  which  was  immediately  done. 

The  piratical  schooner  was  shortly  after  driven  ashore 
near  the  Cape,  and  so  much  damaged  that  it  was  found 
necessary  to  destroy  her.  A  new  sharp  built  schooner  was  in 
consequence  provided  by  their  faithful  friend  in  Havana, 
called  the  Picciana,  and  despatched  to  their  rendezvous.  In 
this  vessel  they  cruised  successfully  for  more  than  four  years. 
Among  the  vessels  taken  and  destroyed  with  their  crews, 
were  the  Belvidere,  Dido,  a  Dutch  brig,  the  British  barque 
Larch,  the  other  vessels  enumerated  in  the  list  furnished 
to  Justice  Hopson,  and  many  others  whose  names  are  not 
recollected.  They  had  a  very  narrow  escape  at  one  time, 
from  the  English  man-of-war  brig  Coronation.  In  the  early 
part  of  October,  eighteen  hundred  and  twenty-one,  they 


Mutineers  of  Brig  Vinyard  burying  the  Money. 


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THOMAS  I.  WANSLEY. 


32 1 


captured  a  ship  from  Charleston,  took  her  to  Cape  Antonio, 
and  were  busily  engaged  in  landing  her  cargo,  when  the 
United  States  brig  Enterprise,  Captain  Kearney,  hove  in 
sight,  and  discovering  their  vessels  at  anchor,  sent  in  her 
barges  to  attack  them.  A  serious  engagement  followed; 
they  defended  themselves  for  sometime  behind  a  four  gun  bat¬ 
tery,  but  in  the  end,  were  defeated  with  considerable  loss, 
and  compelled  to  abandon  their  vessels  and  booty,  and  fly  to 
the  mountains  for  safety. 

They  left  hot,  poisoned  coffee  on  the  cabin  table,  in  hopes 
that  some  of  the  American  officers  would  drink  it.  This 
statement  is  confirmed  by  Captain  Kearney. 

What  follows  is  an  abstract  of  what  passed  between  Gibbs 
and  Mr.  Justice  Hopson  in  prison.  ' 

Question.  Charles  Gibbs, — my  name  is  Mr.  Hopson,  I 
understand  from  Mr.  Merritt  you  wished  to  see  me.  He  told 
me  so  some  ten  or  twelve  days  since,  and  the  weather  being 
so  cold,  I  have  put  off  coming  until  now.  He  informed  me 
you  wished  to  make  some  communications  whch  you  would 
not  make  to  any  other  person. 

Jins.  I  have.  * 

Ques.  Gibbs,  are  you  going  to  tell  me  the  truth,  or  is  it  to 
amuse  me,  and  make  me  write  a  long  story  that  will  not 
amount  to  anything  ? 

Jins.  I  shall  tell  nothing  but  the  truth;  and  it  is  only  on 
condition  that  you  will  swear  not  to  divulge  anything  I  may 
say,  when  I  am  on  my  trial,  and  at  no  time  after,  if  I  should 
get  clear. 

My  reply  was,  (says  Mr.  Hopson,)  that  I  should  not  take 
my  oath,  but  I  would  give  him  my  word  that  it  should  be  kept 
a  secret  according  to  his  request. 

Under  this  promise  he  stated  as  follows: — that  he  had 
commenced  piracy  in  the  year  eighteen  hundred  and  sixteen 
in  the  schooner  Sans  Souci,  belonging  to  the  Island  of 
Margaretta,  and  since  that  time,  has  been  in  several  other 
vessels  engaged  in  the  same  business.  That  many  of  his 
comrades  are  now  living  in  the  United  States,  whose 
names  he  never  would  mention:  That  they  had  taken  from 
many  vessels  large  sums  of  money,  and  various  articles  of 
merchandise.  He  had  no  doubt  he  had  been  concerned  in 
robbing  forty  different  vessels;  and  on  reflection,  could  men¬ 
tion  many  of  the  names.  He  gave  the  names  of  upwards 
of  a  score  of  vessels  taken  by  the  pirates  under  his  command, 
whoso  crews  had  been  murdered.  One  crew,  ho  had  spared 

15 


$22 


CHARLES  GIBBS  AND 


because  they  were  of  Providence,  and  he  could  Dot  resolve 
to  slaughter  his  townsmen. 

Ques.  Gibbs,  why  were  you  so  cruel  as  to  kill  so  many  per¬ 
sons,  when  you  had  got  all  their  money,  which  was  all  you 
wanted? 

Ans.  The  laws  are  the  cause  of  so  many  murders. 

Ques.  How  can  that  be?  What  do  you  mean? 

Ans.  Because  a  man  has  to  suffer  death  for  piracy,  and 
the  punishment  for  murder  is  no  more.  Then,  you  know,  all 
witnesses  are  out  of  the  way,  and  I  am  sure  if  the  punishment 
was  different,  there  would  not  be  so  many  murders. 

Ques.  Have  you  any  objections  to  tell  me  the  names  of 
any  persons  who  have  been  concerned  in  piracy,  or  who  re¬ 
ceived  the  gains  of  pirates? 

Ans.  There  are  many  now  in  the  United  States,  but  I  will 
not  mention  their  names.  I  know  that  when  I  was  cruising, 
the  governor  of  the  Isle  of  Pines  was  concerned  with  pirates, 
and  I  won’t  mention  any  others. 

Here  we  separated  (says  Justice  Hopson)  and  he  wished 
me  to  call  and  see  him  again,  which  I  promised. 

I  visited  him  again  on  the  nineteenth  March.  At  thaf  visit, 
nothing  particular  took  place.  I  asked  him  many  ques-  . 
tions;  he  conversed  with  great  freedom;  repeated  to  me 
the  vessels  he  first  informed  me  had  been  robbed  and  destroyed. 
He  also  on  subsequent  occasions  named  many  more,  and 
detailed  the  circumstances  of  their  capture. 

On  one  occasion  Gibbs  stated  that  he  cruised  for  more  than 
three  weeks  off  the  Capes  of  the  Delaware,  in  the  hope  of 
falling  in  with  the  Rebecca  Sims,  a  Philadelphia  ship,  bound 
for  Canton.  He  knew  that  she  would  have  a  large  quantity 
of  specie  on  board,  but  was  disappointed  of  his  booty.  The 
ship  passed  the  pirate  in  the  night. 

Sometime  in  the  course  of  the  year  eighteen  hundred  and 
nineteen,  he  stated  that  he  left  Havana  and  came  to  the  United 
States,  bringing  with  him  about  thirty  thousand  dollars.  He  f 
passed  several  weeks  in  New  York,  and  then  went  to  Boston, 
whence  he  took  passage  for  Liverpool  in  the  ship  Emerald. 
Before  he  sailed,  however,  he  had  squandered  a  large  part  of 
his  money  in  dissipation  and  gambling.  He  remained  in 
Liverpool  a  few  months,  and  then  returned  to  Boston  in  the 
ship 'Topaz,  Captain  Lewis.  His  residence  in  Liverpool  at 
that  time  is  satisfactorily  ascertained  from  another  source 
beside  his  own  confession.  A  female  now  in  New  York 
was  well  acquainted  with  him  there,  where,  she  says,  he  lived 


THOMAS  I.  WANSLEY. 


323 


like  a  gentleman,  with  apparently  abundant  means  of  support. 
In  speaking  of  his  acquaintance  with  .this  female,  he  said,  “  I 
1  fell  in  with  a  woman,  who  I  thought  was  all  virtue,  but  she 
deceived  me,  and  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  a  heart  that  never  felt 
abashed  at  scenes  of  carnage  and  blood,  was  made  a  child  of, 
for  a  time,  by  her,  and  I  gave  way  to  dissipation  to  drown  the 
torment.  How  often  when  the  fumes  of  liquor  have  subsided, 
have  I  thought  of  my  good  and  affectionate  parents,  and  of 
their  Godly  advice!  But  when  the  little  monitor  began  to 
move  within  me,  I  immediately  seized  the  ctip  to  hide  myself 
from  myself,  and  drank  until  the  sense  of  intoxication  was 
renewed.  My  friends  advised  me  to  behave  like  a  man, 
and  promised  me  their  assistance,  but  the  demon  still  haunted 
me,  and  I  spurned  their  advice.” 

He  subsequently  returned  to  Boston,  sailed  for  Havana, 
and  again  commenced  his  piratical  career.  In  eighteen  hun¬ 
dred  and  twenty-six,  he  revisited  the  United  States,  and  hearing 
of  the  war  between  Brazil  and  the  Republic  of  Buenos  Ayres, 
sailed  from  Boston  in  the  Brig  Hitty,  of  Portsmouth,  with  a 
determination,  as  he  states,  of  trying  his  fortune  in  defence 
of  a  republican  government.  Upon  his  arrival,  he  made 
himself  known  to  Admiral  Brown,  and  communicated  his 
desire  to  join  their  navy.  The  admiral  accompanied  him  to 
the  governor,  and  a  Lieutenant’s  commission  being  given 
him,  he  joined  a  ship  of  twenty-four  guns,  called  the  Twenty 
Fifth  of  May.  “  Here,”  said  Gibbs,  “  I  found  Lieutenant 
Dodge,  an  old  acquaintance,  and  a  number  of  other  persons 
with  whom  I  had  sailed.  When  the  governor  gave  me  the 
commission,  he  told  me  they  wanted  no  cowards  in  their  navy, 
to  wfyich  I  replied  that  I  thought  he  would  have  no  appre¬ 
hension  of  my  cowardice  or  skill  when  he  became  acquainted 
with  me.  He  thanked  me,  and  said  he  hoped  he  should  not 
be  deceived  J  upon  which  we  drank  to  his  health  and  to  the 
success  of  the  Republic.  He  then  presented  me  with  a 
sword,  and  told  me  to  wear  that  as  my  companion  through 
the  doubtful  struggle  in  which  the  Republic  was  engaged 
I  told  him  I  never  would  disgrace  it,  so  long  as  I  had  a  nerve 
in  my  arm.  I  remained  on  board  the  ship  in  the  capacity  of 
fifth  Lieutenant  for  about  four  months,  during  which  time  we 
had  a  number  of  skirmishes  with  the  enemy.  Having  suc¬ 
ceeded  in  gaining  the  confidence  of  Admiral  Brown,  he  put 
me  in  command  of  a  privateer  schooner,  mounting  two  long 
twenty-four  pounders  and  sixteen  men.  I  sailed  from  Buenos 
Ayres,  made  two  good  cruises,  and  returned  safely  to  port. 


324 


CHARLES  GIBBS  AND 


I  then  bought  the  half  of  a  new  Baltimore  schooner,  and 
sailed  again,  but  was  captured  seven  days  out,  and  carried 
into  Rio  Janeiro,  where  the  Brazilians  paid  me  my  change. 
I  remained  there  until  peace  took  place,  then  returned  to 
Buenos  Ayres,  and  thence  to  New  York.” 

After  the  lapse  of  about  a  year,  which  he  passed  in  travel¬ 
ling  from  place  to  place,  Gibbs  states  that  the -war  between 
France  and  Algiers  attracted  his  attention.  Knowing  that 
the  French  commerce  presented  a  fine  opportunity  for  plun¬ 
der,  he  determined  to  embark  for  Algiers  and  offer  his  servi¬ 
ces  to  the  Dey.  He  accordingly  took  passage  from  this  port 
in  the  Sally  Ann,  belonging  to  Bath,  landed  at  Barcelona, 
crossed  to  port  Mahon,  and  endeavored  to  make  his  way  to 
Algiers.  The  vigilance  of  the  French  fleet  prevented  the 
accomplishment  of  his  purpose,  and  he  proceeded  to  Tunis. 
There,  finding  it  unsafe  to  attempt  a  journey  to  Algiers  across 
the  desert,  he  amused  himself  with  contemplating  the  ruins 
of  Carthage,  and  reviving  his  recollections  of  her  war  with 
the  Romans.  He  afterwards  took  passage  to  Marseilles,  and 
thence  to  Boston.  From  Boston  he  sailed  to  New  Orleans, 
and  there  entered  as  one  of  the  crew  of  the  brig  Vineyard. 
To  a  question  why  he,  who  had  been  accustomed  to  command, 
should  enter  as  a  common  sailor  on  board  the  Vineyard,  he 
answered  that  he  sought  employment  to  assuage  the  horrors 
of  reflection. 

He  solemnly  declared  that  he  had  no  agency  in  the  mur¬ 
der  of  the  mate,  for  which  he  was  tried  and  convicted,  and 
could  not  understand  how  he  could  be  found  guilty,  when  he 
stood  by  and  looked  passively  on  the  scene  of  destruction. 
He  readily  admitted,  however,  his  participation  in  the  mutiny, 
revolt  and  robbery,  and  in  the  murder  of  Mr.  Thornby.  He 
often  asked  if  he  should  not  be  murdered  in  the  streets,  if  he 
had  his  liberty,  and  was  recognised,  and  frequently  exclaimed, 
u  Oh,  if  I  had  got  into  Algiers,  I  never  should  have  been  in 
this  prison  to  be  hung  for  murder.” 

Though  he  gave  no  evidence  of  a  u  contrite  heart”  for  the 
horrible  crimes  of  which  he  confessed  himself  guilty,  yet  he 
evidently  dwelled  upon  their  recollection  with  great  unwil¬ 
lingness.  If  a  question  was  asked  him,  u  how  were  the  crews 
generally  destroyed?”  he  answered  quickly  and  briefly,  and 
instantly  changed  the  topic  either  to  the  circumstances  that 
attended  his  trial,  or  to  his  exploits  in  Buenos  Ayres.  After 
his  trial,  his  frame  was  somewhat  enfeebled,  his  face  more 
pale,  and  his  eyes  more  sunken,  but  the  indications  of  his 


THOMAS  I.  WANSLEY. 


325 


bold,  enterprising  and  desperate  mind  remained.  In  his  cell 
he  seemed  more  an  object  of  pity  than  abhorrence.  He  was 
affable  and  communicative,  and  withal  so  gentle  that  no  one 
would  have  taken  him  for  the  abominable  villain  he  was.  His 
conversation  was  lucid  and  pertinent,  and  his  style  of  dis¬ 
course  altogether  original. 

To  correct  the  statement  of  some  of  the  papers  that  Gibbs, 
like  other  criminals,  was  disposed  to  magnify  and  exaggerate 
his  crimes,  it  may  be  well  to  state  that  one  of  Jocelyn’s  charts 
of  the  West  Indies  was  handed  him,  containing  the  names  of 
about  ninety  vessels  which  were  boarded  and  plundered  by 
pirates  from  eighteen  hundred  and  seventeen  to  eighteen  hun¬ 
dred  and  twenty-five,  with  a  request  that  he  would  mark  those 
of  whose  robbery  he  had  any  recollection.  The  chart  was 
returned  with  but  one  mark,  and  that  upon  the  ship  Lucias 
of  Charleston.  When  questioned  afterwards  in  regard  to 
that  vessel,  he  gave  such  an  account  of  her,  and  her  subse¬ 
quent  re-capture  by  the  Enterprize,  as  left  no  doubt  of  the 
truth  of  his  statement. 

Gibbs  wrote  two  letters  to  the  female  mentioned  in  the 
foregoing  pages,  in  which  he  advises  her  to  turn  from  her 
vicious  course,  and  seek  repentance,  before  her  lamp  of  life 
expires.  These  letters  indicate  considerable  native  talent, 
but  not  many  signs  of  education.  His  spelling  is  very  bad. 
He  quoted  Scripture  with  considerable  readiness,  and  read 
fluently.  For  the  gratification  of  our  readers,  we  give  one 
of  these  letters  entire. 

Bellevue  Prison,  March  20,  1831. 

It  is  with  regret  that  I  take  my  pen  in  hand  to  address  you 
with  these  few  lines,  under  the  great  embarrassment  of  my 
feelings,  placed  within  these  gloomy  walls,  my  body  bound 
with  chains,  and  under  the  awful  sentence  of  death.  It  is 
enough  to  throw  the  strongest  mind  into  gloomy  prospects, 
but  I  find  that  Jesus  Christ  is  sufficient  to  give  consolation 
to  the  most  despairing  soul.  For  he  saith  that  he  that  cometh 
to  me  I  will  in  nowise  cast  out.  But  it  is  impossible  to 
describe  unto  you  the  emotions  of  my  feelings.  My  breast  is 
like  the  tempestuous  ocean,  raging  in  its  own  shame,  harrowing 
up  the  bottom  of  my  own  soul.  But  I  look  forward  to  that 
serene  calm  when  1  shall  sleep  with  kings  and  counsellors  of 
the  earth.  There  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling,  and  there 
the  weary  be  at  rest.  There  the  prisoners  rest  together; 
they  hear  not  the  voice  of  the  oppressor.  And  I  trust  that 
there  my  breast  will  not  be  ruffed  by  the  storm  of  sin, — for 


326 


CHARLES  GIBBS  AND 


the  thing  which  I  greatly  feared  has  come  upon  me.  I  was 
not  in  safety,  neither  had  I  rest;  yet  trouble  came.  It  is  the 
l  ord,  let  him  do  what  seemeth  to  him  good.  When  I  saw 
you  in  Liverpool,  and  a  peaceful  calm  wafled  across  both  our 
breasts,  and  justice  no  claim  upon  us,  little  did  I  think  to  meet 
you  in  the  gloomy  walls  of  a  strong  prison,  and  the  arm  of 
justice  stretched  out  with  the  sword  of  the  law,  awaiting  the 
appointed  period  to  execute  the  dreadful  sentence.  I  have 
had  a  fair  prospect  in  the  world,  at  last  it  budded,  and  brought 
forth  the  gallows.  I  am  shortly  to  mount  that  scaffold,  and 
to  bid  adieu  to  this  world,  and  all  that  was  ever  dear  to  my 
breast.  But,  I  trust,  when  my  body  is  mounted  on  the  gal¬ 
lows  high,  the  heavens  above  will  smile  and  pity  me.  I  hope 
that  you  will  reflect  on  your  past,  and  to  fly  to  that  Jesus 
who  stands  with  open  arms  to  receive  you.  Your  character 
is  lqst,  it  is  true.  When  the  wicked  turneth  from  the  wicked¬ 
ness  that  they  have  committed,  they  shall  save  their  soul  alive. 
Let  us  imagine  for  a  moment,  that  we  see  the  souls  stand¬ 
ing  before  the  awful  tribunal,  and  we  hear  its  dreadful 
sentence,  depart  ye  cursed  into  everlasting  fire.  Imagine 
you  hear  the  awful  lamentations  of  a  soul  in  hell.  It  would 
be  enough  to  melt  your  heart,  if  it  was  as  hard  as  adamant. 
You  would  fall  upon  your  knees  and  plead  for  God’s  mercy, 
as  a  famished  person  would  for  food,  or  as  a  dying  criminal 
would  for  pardon.  We  soon,  very  soon,  must  go  the  way 
whence  we  shall  ne’er  return.  Our  names  will  he  struck  off 
the  records  of  the  living,  and  enrolled  in  the  vast  catalogues  of 
the  dead.  But  may  they  ne’er  be  numbered  with  the  damned. 
I  hope  it  will  please  God  to  set  you  at  liberty,  and  that  you 
may  see  the  sins  and  follies  of  your  life  past.  I  shall  now 
close  my  letter  with  a  few  words,  which  I  hope  you  will 
receive  as  from  a  dying  man:  and  I  hope  that  every  important 
truth  of  this  letter  may  sink  deep  in  your  heart,  and  be  a 
lesson  to  you  through  life. 

Rising  griefs  distress  my  soul, 

And  tears  on  tears  successive  roll, — 

•  For  many  an  evil  voice  is  near, 

To  chide  my  woes  and  mock  my  fear; 

And  silent  memory  weeps  alone, 

O’er  hours  of  peace  and  gladness  flown, 

I  still  remain  your  sincere  friend, 


Charles  Gibbs. 


THOMAS  I.  WANSLEY. 


327 


On  Friday,  April  twenty-second,  Gibbs  and  Wansley  paid 
the  penalty  of  their  crimes.  Both  prisoners  arrived  at  the 
gallows  about  twelve  o’clock,  accompanied  by  the  marshal, 
his  aids,  and  some  twenty  or  thirty  United  States’  Marines. 
Two  clergymen  attended  them  to  the  fatal  spot,  where  every¬ 
thing  being  in  readiness,  and  the  ropes  adjusted  about  their 
necks,  the  throne  of  Mercy  was  fervently  addressed  in  their 
behalf.  Wansley  then  prayed  earnestly  himself,  and  after¬ 
wards  joined  in  singing  a  hymn.  These  exercises  concluded, 
Gibbs  addressed  the  spectators  nearly  as  follows: 

MY  DEAR  FRIENDS, 

My  crimes  have  been  heinous — and  although  I  am  now 
about  to  suffer  for  the  murder  of  Mr.  Roberts,  I  solemnly 
declare  my  innocence  of  the  transaction.  It  is  true,  I  stood 
by  and  saw  the  fatal  deed  done,  and  stretched  not  forth  my 
arm  to  save  him:  the  technicalities  of  the  law  believe  me 

guilty  of  the  charge - but  in  the  presence  of  my  God, 

before  whom  I  shall  be  in  a  few  minutes,  I  declare  I  did  not 
murder  him. 

I  have  made  a  full  and  frank  confession  to  Mr.  Hopson, 
which  probably  most  of  my  hearers  present  have  already 
read;  and  should  any  of  the  friends  of  those  whom  I  have 
been  accessary  to,  or  engaged  in  the  murder  of,  be  now 
present,  before  my  Maker  l  beg  their  forgiveness — it  is  the 
only  boon  I  ask — and  as  I  hope  for  pardon  through  the  blood 
of  Christ,  surely  this  request  will  not  be  withheld  by  man, 
to  a  worm,  like  myself,  standing  as  I  do,  on  the  very  verge  of 
eternity!  Another  moment,  and  I  cease  to  exist — and  could 
I  find  in  my  bosom  room  to  imagine  that  the  spectators  now 
assembled,  had  forgiven  me,  the  scaffold  would  have  no  ter¬ 
rors,  nor  could  the  precept  which  my  much  respected  friend, 
the  marshal  of  the  district,  is  about  to  execute.  Let  me 
then,  in  this  public  manner,  return  my  sincere  thanks  to  him, 
for  his  kind  and  gentlemanly  deportment  during  my  confine¬ 
ment.  He  was  to  me  like  a  father,  and  his  humanity  to  a 
dying  man  I  hope  will  be  duly  appreciated  by  an  enlightened 
community. 

My  first  crime  was  Piracy ,  for  which  my  Life  would  pay 
the  forfeit  on  conviction;  no  punishment  could  be  inflicted  on 
me  farther  than  that,  and  therefore  I  had  nothing  to  fear  but 
detection,  for  had  my  offences  been  millions  of  times  more 
aggravated  than  they  now  are,  Death  must  have  satisfied  all. 

Gibbs  having  concluded,  Wansley  began.  He  said  he  might 


328 


CHARLES  GIBBS. 


be  called  a  pirate,  a  robber,  and  a  murderer,  and  he  wa3 
all  of  these,  but  he  hoped  and  trusted  God  would,  through 
Christ,  wash  away  his  aggravated  crimes  and  offences,  and 
not  cast  him  entirely  out.  His  feelings,  he  said,  were  so 
overpowered  that  he  hardly  knew  how  to  address  those  about 
him,  but  he  frankly  admitted  the  justness  of  the  sentence, 
and  concluded  by  declaring  that  he  had  no  hope  of  pardon 
except  through  the  atoning  blood  of  his  Redeemer,  and  wish¬ 
ed  that,his  sad  fate  might  teach  others  to  shun  the  broad  road 
to  ruin,  and  travel  in  that  of  virtue,  which  would  lead.to  honor 
and  happiness  in  this  world,  and  an  immortal  crown  of  glory 
in  that  to  come. 

He  then  shook  hands  with  Gibbs,  the  officers  and  clergy¬ 
men — their  caps  were  drawn  over  their  faces,  a  handker¬ 
chief  dropped  by  Gibbs  as  a  signal  to  the  executioner,  caused 
the  cord  to  be  severed,  and  in  an  instant  they  were  suspended 
in  air.  Wansley  folded  his  hands  before  him,  before  he  was 
run  up,  and  did  not  again  remove  them,  but  soon  died  with 
very  trifling  struggles.  Gibbs  died  hard;  after  being  near 
two  minutes  suspended,  he  raised  his  right  hand  and  partially 
removed  his  cap,  and  in  the  course  of  another  minute,  raised 
the  same  hand  to  his  mouth.  His  dress  was  a  blue  round¬ 
about  jacket  and  trousers,  with  a  foul  anchor  in  white  on  his 
right  arm.  Wansley  wore  a  white  frock  coat,  trimmed  with 
black,  with  trousers  of  the  same  color. 

After  the  bodies  had  remained  on  the  gallows  the  usual 
time  they  were  taken  down  and  given  to  the  surgeons  for 
dissection. 

Gibbs  was  rather  below  the  middle  stature,  thick  set  and 
powerful.  The  form  of  Wansley  was  a  perfect  model  of  manly 
beauty.  * 

The  boy  Dawes  was  not  prosecuted,  having  been  received 
as  State’s  evidence  against  Gibbs  and  Wansley. 

We  are  informed,  on  respectable  authority,  that  Gibbs 
made  a  full  disclosure  of  all  the  accomplices,  aiders  and 
abettors  of  his  piracies,  and  that  it  was  the  intention  of  the 
person  who  has  the  information  in  his  possession,  to  proceed 
to  Washington  and  communicate  it  without  delay  to  the 
President.  When  published,  it  is  said  “  it  will  astound  the 
peopl !  of  this  nation.” 


JESSE  STRANG. 


329 


JESSE  STRANG. 

What  we  have  to  relate  concerning  the  celebrated  murder 
of  Mr.  Whipple,  is  founded  on  facts  disclosed  at  Strang’s 
trial,  and  on  his  confessions  while  under  sentence  of  death. 

Jesse  Strang  was  the  son  of  poor  parents  and  was  brought 
up  to  hard  labor.  When  he  arrived  at  man’s  estate  he  mar¬ 
ried,  but  being  naturally  of  a  restless,  depraved  disposition, 
he  soon  left  his  spouse  to  shift  for  herself,  and  went  to  Ohio. 
Becoming  tired  of  the  western  country  he  returned  to  the 
east,  and  in  July,  eighteen  hundred  and  twenty-six,  arrived  in 
Albany,  whence  he  vvent  to  Cherry  Hill,  near  the  residence  of 
P.  P.  Van  Rensselaer,  and  hired  himself  to  a  Mr.  Bates.  To 
avoid  recognition  by  any  of  his  former  acquaintance  he  took 
the  name  of  Joseph  Orton. 

Mr.  Bates  kept  a  public  house.  About  the  beginning  of 
August,  Strang  being  in  the  bar  room,  saw  two  females  enter, 
one  of  whom  was  young,  handsome,  and  very  giddy  and  play¬ 
ful.  This  person  was  not,  as  he  supposed  from  her  demeanor, 
a  girl,  but  a  married  woman.  She  was  the  wife  of  Mr.  John 
Whipple,  who  was  much  her  senior.  As  to  her  character,  it 
appears  that  though  her  husband  treated  her  with  the  utmost 
gentleness  and  affection,  and  though  she  had  borne  him  a 
son,  she  was  tlie  slave  of  animal  passion,  which  influenced  her 
conduct  the  more;  that  she  was  totally  devoid  of  religion  and 
moral  principle.  Such  was  the  famous,  or  more  properly,  the 
infamous  Elsie  D.  Whipple,  the  first  sight  of  whom  lighted 
the  flame  of  lawless  love  in  Strang’s  bosom. 

About  the  end  of  August,  Strang  went  to  live  with  Mr.  Van 
Rensselaer,  who  dwelt  in  a  house  in  which  Mr.  Whipple  and 
his  wife  were  boarders.  For  a  long  time  no  particular  inti¬ 
macy  took  place  between  Strang  and  the  object  of  his  desires, 
nor  did  any  part  of  her  conduct  encourage  him  to  declare  his 
feelings  toward  her,  which  were  daily  gaining  strength.  But 
near  the  end  of  October  she  held  a  conversation  with  him, 
in  which  she  displayed  so  much  levity,  as  induced  him  to 
think  that  she  reciprocated  his  feelings. 

Strang  went  by  the  familiar  name  of  u  The  Doctor”  in  the 
family.  A  few  hours  after  the  conversation  above  mentioned, 
Mrs.  Whipp*3  proved  herself  capable  of  making  the  first 

15* 


330 


JESSE  STRANG. 


advances.  She  accosted  him  with,  11  Doctor,  I  want  you  to 
wiite  me  a  letter.”  Supposing  that  she  could  not  write,  he 
exclaimed  in  astonishment,  “  What!  I  write  you  a  letter?” 
11  Yes,”  she  rejoined,  u  I  hate  to  write  the  first  one.”  Then 
desiring  him  to  consider  the  matter  and  write  that  very  night, 
she  left  him.  For  awhile  he  doubted  whether  this  her  pro¬ 
posal  might  not  be  a  device  to  entrap  him,  but  the  recollection 
of  her  manner  toward  him  and  his  own  passion  gave  him 
courage  to  comply.  We  subjoin  this  modei  of  epistolary 
writing  to  show  what  qualifications  were  necessary  to  com¬ 
mand  the  love  of  Mrs.  Whipple.  It  ran  thus, 

Dear  Elsie — I  have  seariesly  considred  on  it  as  you  re¬ 
quested  of  me  yeasterday  and  I  have  concluded  two  compose 
a  few  lines  two  You  and  I  thought  that  it  was  not  my  duty  two 
right  very  freely  not  nowing  Your  object  perhaps  it  is  two 
get  sum  of  my  righting  two  show  two  your  husband  as  you  ar 
a  marid  woman,  and  If  that  is  your  intenshin  It  is  my  whish 
fore  you  two  let  me  now  it  fore  it  is  a  thing  that  I  skorn  two 
make  a  distirbance  between  you  and  your  husband  but  If  in 
the  outher  hand  It  is  out  of  pure  offections  I  should  be  quite 
hapy  for  two  have  the  information  in  your  hand  riting  and  I 
hope  that  you  will  not  take  any  offen  inAmy  maner  of  riting 
two  you  as  we  ar  pirfict  strangers  two  each  outher,  but  hop 
that  thoes  few  lines  may  find  free  exceptan  with  you  and  after 
I  find  out  your  motive  I  can  right  mour  freely  on  the  subject 
and  as  for  my  offections  thay  ar  quite  favorible  I  shall  expact 
an  answer  from  you  If  that  is  your  motive,  sow  I  remain  your 
well  whisher.  Joseph  Orton. 

The  morality  contained  in  this  beautiful  piece  of  com¬ 
position  was  suggested  by  the  reflections  of  the  Sabbath  day, 
and  the  letter  was  delivered  thereon.  Three  quarters  of 
an  hour  sufficed  Mrs.  Whipple  to  indite  an  answer,  which 
began  with  u  Dear  Doctor,”  and  assured  him  that  she  had  no 
evil  design  toward  him.  Her  motive,  she  said,  was  pure  love, 
excited  by  the  first  sight  of  his  beautiful  eyes.  Since  that 
moment  she  had  enjoyed  neither  happiness  nor  comfort.  She 
had  eloped  to  bq  married  and  could  do  so  again.  She  had 
waited  long,  hoping  that  he  would  declare  himself,  and  now 
desired  him  never  to  leave  the  place  without  taking  her  with 
him.  She  had  long  been  of  opinion  that  the  passion  of  love 
had  no  real  existence,  but  he  had  convinced  her  of  her  error, 
and  she  solicited  a  continuation  of  his  correspondence.  She 


JESSE  STRANG.  331 

subscribed  herself  Elsie  D.  Whipple,  his  true  and  affectionate 
lover  till  death.  * 

In  answer  to  this  Strang  wrote  her  a  proposal  to  elope  with 
him,  promising,  if  she  would  consent,  to  do  all  in  his  power 
to  support  anti  protect  her.  She  accepted  the  offer  without 
hesitation,  saying  she  would  go  to  the  end  of  the  earth  to  get 
him.  However,  she  was  unwilling  to  stnrt  till  she  should 
have  obtained  twelve  hundred  dollars  for  their  expenses.  In 
a  subsequent  conversation  she  explained  her  plans  more  fully 
by  word  of  mouth.  She  had  always  been  desirous  to  keep 
a  public  house  and  thought  the  sum  she  had  mentioned  would 
be  enough  to  begin  with.  Strang  objected  that  he  knew  noth¬ 
ing  of  the  business,  but  thought  that  he  might  turn  his  hand 
to  it  as  well  as  to  anything  else.  He  proposed  that  they 
should  go  first  to  Montreal,  and  remain  there  till  Mr.  Whipple 
should  be  reconciled  to  his  loss,  and  then  proceed  to  Sandusky 
in  Ohio,  where  they  might  be  married  by  fictitious  names,  and 
carry  their  project  into  execution. 

The  wretches  had  little  opportunity  for  conversation,  and 
therefore  continued  their  intercourse  by  letter.  The  topics 
of  these  were  the  means  of  raising  money,  and  being  unable 
to  hit  on  any  feasible  plan,  the  infatuated  woman  at  last  pro¬ 
posed  directly  that  Strang  'should  forge  a  check,  in  Mr. 
Whipple’s  name,  on  the  bank  in  which  his  money  was  deposit¬ 
ed.  Strang  did  not  want  the  will,  but  his  education  had  not 
qualified  him  for  such  an  act  of  villainy.  Impatient  of  delay, 
his  paramour  entreated  him  to  assassinate  her  husband;  thus 
proving  that  a  woman  makes  more  rapid  strides  in  the  path  that 
leadeth  to  destruction,  when  she  has  once  set  her  foot  in  it, 
than  a  man.  She  proposed  that  he  should  hire  some  laboring 
man  to  do  the  deed,  or  failing  in  that  to  do  it  himself.  If  he 
should  conclude  to  take  the  business  in  his  own  hands  she 
offered  to  procure  her  husband’s  pistols  for  him.  This  wicked¬ 
ness  was  entirely  the  suggestion  of  her  own  mind,  for  Strang 
had  never  intimated  any  such  intention  to  her,  and  though 
she  had  often  wished  for  Mr.  Whipple’s  death,  she  had  never 
before  spoke  of  murdering  him. 

Strang  was  shocked  at  the  proposal,  and  told  her  so.  He 
said  that  though  his  affection  for  her  was  not  susceptible  of 
increase,  he  would  rather  labor  all  his  life  than  be  guilty  of  a 
murder.  He  loved  her,  not  for  her  property,  but  for  herself: 
if  she  loved  him  well  enough  to  become  his  companion  he 
would  work  himself  to  death  to  maintain  her,  but  if  the  pos¬ 
session  of  hei  depended  on  the  murder  of  an  innocent  man, 


332 


JESSE  STRANG. 


there  was  an  end  of  the  affair.  In  writing  thus  he  still  hoped 
that  her  suggestion  had  not  been  serious. 

She  answered  that  she  had  thought  Strang  was  a  man 
as  resolute  as  another  who  had  offered  to  kill  Mr.  Whip¬ 
ple.  This  person  she  did  not  love,  and  was  confident  that  he 
had  no  affection  for  her,  but  was  actuated  in  his  offer  by  the 
desire  of  obtaining  her  property.  If  Strang,  she  continued, 
really  loved  her  as  he  pretended,  he  would  have  consented 
for  the  sake  of  her  person  and  property,  and  that  he  might  live 
without  work:  but  as  he  had  refused  to  do  her  will,  she  had 
concluded  to  live  on  the  same  terms  with  him  as  before,  until 
they  could  otherwise  obtain  the  means  to  elope. 

We  had  forgotten  to  mention  that  while  this  intercourse 
was  being  carried  on,  Mr.  Whipple  was  absent.  In  January 
he  returned.  One  day  in  the  February  succeeding,  his  wicked 
wife  called  Strang  aside,  and  with  every  appearance  of  indig¬ 
nation  told  him  that  her  husband  had  struck  her,  which, 
probably,  was  false,  as  such  an  action  was  not  in  keeping  with 
the  worthy  man’s  character.  Strang  asked  if  he  should  not 
waylay  and  kill  the  supposed  offender,  and  Mrs.  Whipple 
eagerly  assented.  He  said  he  could  not,  and  she  then  desir¬ 
ed  him,  if  he  was  so  faint-hearted,  at  least  to  procure  poison, 
which  she  would  administer  herself,  being  resolved  to  bear 
such  abuse  no  longer.  Strang  refused  to  do  this,  too. 

A  few  days  after,  as  Strang  was  sitting  in  the  kitchen,  Mrs.  ' 
Whipple  passed  through  with  a  bowl  of  milk.  She  stopped 
and  told  him  her  husband  had  just  called  for  the  milk,  and 
observed  that  had  he  consented  to  procure  the  poison,  it 
would  have  been  an  excellent  opportunity  to  administer  it 
unsuspected. 

Matters  kept  on  in  their  usual  train  till  March,  when  find 
ing  it  impossible  to  raise  money,  and  urged  by  Mrs.  Whipple, 
Strang  bought  a  dose  of  arsenic,  which  he  gave  her,  and  she 
put  it  into  her  husband’s  tea.  They  then  pledged  themselves 
by  the  most  solemn  oaths,  never,  under  any  circumstances,  to 
betray  each  other;  as  if  those  capable  of  such  a  crime,  would 
regard  the  sanctity  of  an  oath.  But  whether  the  druggist 
had  suspected  Strang,  and  given  him  a  harmless  potion,  or 
whether  Mr.  Whipple’s  constitution  was  uncommonly  strong 
the  dose  had  no  effect  on  him. 

Strang  then  bought  a  quantity  of  arsenic  at  another  shop 
divided  it  into  three  equal  parts,  and  gave  it  to  Mrs.  Whipple 
A  week  after,  she  informed  Strang  that  she  had  given  her 
husband  one  of  the  oortions  in  sulphur,  and  asked  if  he  thought 


JESSE  STRANG. 


333 


it  would  operate  taken  in  that  manner.  He  replied  that  he 
thought  it  would,  and  they  both  impatiently  waited  for  the 
fesult. 

The  next  morning  Mr.  Whipple  refused  to  take  a  second 
poisoned  dose  of  sulphur  proffered  by  his  wife,  the  last  having, 
as  he  said,  cramped  his  stomach.  She  told  him  it  had  had 
the  same  effect  on  her,  and  persuaded  him  to  persevere.  He 
took  a  part,  and  gave  the  rest  to  his  son,  while  the  guilty 
mother  looked  on,  afraid  to  remonstrate.  By  Strang’s  advice 
she  gave  the  boy  salt,  by  way  of  antidote,  but  the  precaution 
was  apparently  needless,  for  the  poison  had  no  effect  on  father 
or  child.  .  ^ 

Being  resolved  to  destroy  Mr.  Whipple,  Strang  applied  to 
a  female  slave  named  Dinah  Jackson,  and  asked  if  she  would 
poison  him  for  five  hundi 'd  dollars.  She  gave  him  no  direct 
reply,  and  on  being  again  asked  the  next  day  if  she  had  made 
up  her  mind  to  do  it,  replied,  “  No,  that  I  wont.  I  wont  sell 
my  soul  to  hell  for  all  the  world.  If  I  should  do  it,  I  should 
never  have  any  comfort  after  it.”  What  a  moral  contrast 
between  this  poor,  miserable,  degraded  negro  and  the  young 
and  beautiful  Elsie  Whipple! 

In  April,  Mr  Whipple  being  about  to  start  for  Vermont, 
his  wife  requested  Strang  to  take  one  of  his  pistols,  or  a  club, 
or  an  axe,  and  waylay  and  slay  him.  She  even  pointed  out 
the  spot  where  it  could  be  done  most  conveniently.  He 
replied  that  he  would  think  of  it,  but  took  no  measures,  and 
Mr.  Whipple  departed  unharmed. 

Despairing  of,  being  able  to  work  Strang  to  the  pitch  of 
wickedness  she  desired,  and  desperately  determined  on  mur¬ 
der,'  Mrs.  Whipple  wrote,  in  the  presence  of  her  paramour, 
and  with  his  assistance,  two  letters  to  different  persons, 
offering  them  five  hundred  dollars  to  kill  her  husband. 
But  finding  some  difficulty  in  directing  them,  they  were 
never  sent. 

Mr.  Whipple’s  absence  gave  this  abominable  pair  an 
opportunity  to  carry,  not  their  adulterous  intentions,  but  their 
acts,  farther  than  they  had  ever  done  before.  The  injuied 
husband’s  return  was  not  suffered  to  interrupt  their  criminal 
enjoyment.  Pretending  to  have  business  elsewhere,  Strang 
left  the  house,  saying  he  should  be  gone  two  days,  and  met 
Mrs.  Whipple  at  a  place  of  assignation.  He  took  her  into  a 
wagon,  and  drove  to  a  public  house  where  they  put  up  for  the 
night,  in  the  characters  of  man  and  wife.  The  next  day  they 
returned  to  Albany,  and  regained  their  house  by  different 


334 


JESSE  STRANG. 


roads.  The  expenses  of  this  excursion  were  defrayed  by 
Mrs.  Whipple,  with  her  husband’s  money. 

They  now  agreed  to  collect  a  hundred  dollars,  due  Mr. 
Whipple  from  one  of  his  tenants,  and  elope  without  farther 
delay ;  but  not  being  able  to  persuade  herself  to  leave  her  child, 
the  guilty  Elsie  desired  Strang  to  shoot  her  husband  through 
his  window,  with  one  of  his  own  pistols.  Strang  replied  that 
he  had  never  fired  a  pistol  in  his  life,  and  should  be  as  likely 
to  kill  any  other  of  the  family  as  the  one  intended:  he  said 
he  could  do  it  with  nothing  but  a  double  barrelled  gun,  and 
she  sent  him  to  Albany  to  inquire  the  price  of  the  weapon. 
It  proved  too  high  for  her  means,  and  it  was  agreed  between 
them  to  buy  a  rifle,  the  price  of  which  was  lower.  Their 
course  being  now  fixed,  Strang  reported  that  he  fiad  seen 
persons  lurking  about  the  house  and  grounds,  late  at  night, 
and  apparently  with  evil  design.  This  he  did  to  divert  sus¬ 
picion  from  himself  when  the  deed  should  have  been  done. 

Mrs.  Whipple  furnished  him  with  money,  and  he  bought  a 
rifle,  which  he  hid  in  the  loft  of  the  privy,  after  which  he  wrote 
a  letter  to  the  infatuated  woman,  stating  that  all  was  ready, 
but  that  if  she  was  willing,  he  would  go  no  farther.  But  she 
had  gone  too  far  in  crime  to  stop  there.  She  desired  him  to 
try  his  gun,  and  to  shoot  at  the  mark  through  a  pane  of  glass, 
as  she  had  heard  of  an  attempt  to  shoot  a  man  through  a 
window  which  failed,  by  the  glancing  of  the  ball.  This,  she 
told  him  might  be  his  case,  or  he  might  hit  some  other  person, 
She  furnished  him  with  two  panes  of  glass  and  powder  and 
ball  for  the  experiment.  This  done,  she  dressed  and  started 
for  church.  (It  was  Sunday.) 

Strang  took  from  the  butt  of  a  whip-stock  a  piece  of  lead 
which  he  cut  into  bullets,  and  then  proceeded  with  his  rifle 
and  glass  to  the  woods.  He  set  a  pane  upon  a  stump,  and 
fired  through  it  at  a  mark  on  a  pine  tree,  which  he  hit.  He 
shot  again  through  the  glass  doubled,  and  then  at  an  angle 
with  its  surface,  and  the  result  was,  that  he  satisfied  himself 
that  a  bullet  would  not  glance  from  a  window.  After  this  he 
secreted  his  gun  and  returned  home. 

When  Mrs.  Whipple  returned  from  church  she  questioned 
him  touching  his  experiments,  and  asked  to  see  the  rifle.  He 
told  her  where  to  find  the  weapon,  and  she  went  and  looked 
at  it.  As  Strang  had  expended  all  his  lead,  she  brought  him 
a  bullet  saying,  u  Mr.  Whipple  is  loading  his  pistol  to  save 
his  own  life,  and  I  have  taken  the  last  ball  he  had  left  for  you 
to  kill  him  with.  What  a  wicked  creature  I  am!”  Scarcely 


JESSE  STRANG. 


335 

had  this  conversation  ended,  when  Mr.  Whipple  entered  and 
asked  Strang  what  the  people  said  to  lurk  about  the  house 
at  night  could  mean,  and  why  he  did  not  shoot  them.  .  Strang 
said  there  was  a  gun  hanging  over  the  door  for  that  express 
purpose.  '  Mr.  Whipple  told  him  to  be  sure  to  hit  and  hurt 
them,  so  that  he  might  be  able  to  lay  hands  on  them,  and  left 
him. 

A  short  time  after,  Mrs.  Whipple  came  to  Strang  and  asked 
if  he  had  loaded  the  rifle  with  the  ball  she  had  given  him. 
He  said  he  had  not,  but  was  about  to  do  it,  and  he  did  so. 
She  came  again,  and  being  satisfied  that  preparations  were 
thus  far  advanced,  asked  him  from  what  place  he  intended  to 
fire  on  her  husband.  He  answered,  from  the  roof  of  a  shed, 
that  was  situated  behind  and  close  to  the  window  of  Mr. 
Whipple’s  room.  She  approved  of  the  project  and  promised 
to  roll  up  the  window  curtain!  He  asked  for  her  over-shoes, 
and  on  being  told  they  were  so  small  he  could  not  possibly 
get  them  on,  said  he  must  have  a  pair  of  socks,  at  any  rate, 
and  she  said  she  would  put  them  under  his  pillow.  She 
demanded  what  he  meant  to  do  with  the  gun  after  firing,  and 
he  replied  that  he  should  throw  it  into  the  river,  or  the  well. 
She  also  agreed  to  give  him  certain  signals  that  he  might 
know  where  the  different  members  of  the  household  should 
have  bestowed  themselves.  They  parted,  and  not  having  an 
opportunity  to  speak  to  him  again,  slipped  a  note  into  his 
hand,  directing  him  to  throw  the  gun  as  far  as  he  possibly 
could,  if  any  of  the  family  should  come  out.  If  we  had  not 
read  of  the  murder  of  Mr.  White,  we  should  say  that  the 
sang  froid  of  these  two  criminals  was  never  equalled. 

Strang  went  to  Albany  in  the  afternoon  and  lounged  away 
his  time  till  the  hour  for  the  consummation  of  his  crime  had 
arrived.  About  ten  o’clock  he  took  his  rifle,  pulled  off  his 
boots  and  hose  and  donned  the  socks  Mrs.  Whipple  had  pro¬ 
vided,  according  to  agreement.  He  pulled  off  his  upper 
garment,  wrapped  his  boots  and  a  bundle  he  had  brought  from 
the  city  in  it,  and  deposited  it  under  a  fence  about  fifty  yards 
from  the  house.  This  done  he  went  to  the  shed  before  mention¬ 
ed^  and  by  the  aid  of  a  large  box  clomb  upon  the  roof,  and 
took  his  station  opposite  Mr.  Whipple’s  window.  The  un¬ 
fortunate  gentleman  was  sitting  at  a  table  and  Mr.  A.  Van 
Rensselaer  was  near  him;  not  so  near  however,  but  that 
Strang  could  fire  without  putting  his  life  in  daqger.  After 
examining  the  priming,  Strang  put  the  muzzle  of  his  rifle  close 
to  the  sash,  took  deliberate  aim  under  Mr.  Whipple’s  left  arm, 


336 


JESSE  STRANG. 


and  fired.  Mr.  Whipple  exclaimed,  u  Oh  Lord!”  and  fell 
from  his  chair. 

The  instant  Strang  discharged  his  piece  he  retreated  three 
or  four  steps,  slipped,  threw  the  gun  from  his  hand  and  fell 
from  the  shed  to  the  earth.  He  instantly  sprang  to  his  feet, 
audibly  thanking  God  he  was  not  hurt!  picked  up  his  rifle  and 
ran  to  the  place  where  he  had  left  his  bundle.  Thence  he 
proceeded  at  his  full  speed  to  a  wet  ravine,  where  he  buried  the 
murderous  implement  in  the  mud,  stamped  it  down,  and  strew¬ 
ed  leaves  over  it.  His  muddy  socks  he  disposed  of  in  the 
same  manner,  but  in  another  place.  Having  readjusted  his 
apparel,  he  regained  the  main  road  from  Albany,  went  to  the 
house  and  knocked  at  the  door.  A  female  slave  let  him  in, 
and  told  him  Mr.  Whipple  had  been  shot.  He  went  into  the 
room  where  the  body  was  lying  and  exhibited  the  first  symptom 
of  guilt  in  turning  pale  at  the  sight  of  it,  as  was  afterwards 
specified  on  his  trial. 

Mr.  Van  Rensselaer  desired  Strang  to  take  his  gun,  and 
go  round  the  house,  lest,  peradventure,  the  assassin  might 
be  still  lurking  about  it.  He  went  accordingly,  but  soon  re¬ 
turned,  and  was  sworn  as  one  of  the  coroner’s  jury,  the 
sitting  of  which  was  adjourned  till  the  next  morning. 

The  next  morning  Slrang  averred  that  he  supected  Mr 
Whipple  had  been  murdered  by  some  of  the  laborers  on  the 
canal,  and  gave  a  minute  account  of  the  persons  he  said  he 
had  seen  about  the  house.  His  zeal  to  fix  the  guilt  on 
strangers  aroused  the  suspicions  of  his  fellow  jurors,  who, 
however,  returned  a  verdict  of  “  murder  committed  by  some 
person  or  persons  unknown.” 

In  the  afternoon  Mrs.  Whipple  came  to  Strang  as  he  was 
sitting  in  the  kitchen,  and  asked  if  he  had  secured  u  that 
piece”  and  the  socks,  and  he  said  he  had.  Immediately  after 
he  was  summoned  to  the  Police  Office  and  examined,  on  oath, 
touching  the  persons  said  to  have  been  seen  about  the  house. 
Here  he  added  perjury  to  the  list  of  his  crimes,  and  gave 
a  plausible  account  of  the  matter. 

In  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day  Mrs.  Whipple  told  him 
they  were  suspected,  and  immediately  after  they  were  appre¬ 
hended.  On  his  several  examinations  he  stated  many  false¬ 
hoods,  but  at  last  admitted  the  facts  relative  to  the  journey 
to  Schenectady  with  Mrs.  Whipple,  as  already  related.  He 
was  then  fully  committed  on  a  charge  of  murder,  and  Mr. 
Yates  to  whom  he  applied  to  act  as  his  counsel,  refused  to  do 
so.  He  then  employed  Calvin  Pepper  Esq.  to  whom  he 


JESSE  STRANG. 


337 


confessed  his  guilt.  He  also  desired  Mr.  Pepper  to  go  to 
the  place  where  he  had  left  his  rifle,  and  remove  it,  lest  it 
should  be  found  and  furnish  evidence  against  him.  But  to 
his  father  and  step-mother,  who  visited  him  about  this  time  in 
prison,  he  strenuously  denied  his  guilt,  and  they  engaged  Mr 
Oakly  of  Poughkeepsie  to  assist  in  his  defence. 

He  was  visited  by  the  Grand  Jury,  in  a  body,  the  next 
June,  and  informed  by  them  that  Mrs,  Whipple  herself  had 
furnished  sufficient  proof  of  his  guilt  for  conviction,  and  that 
his  case  was  hopeless.  Thus  reduced  to  despair,  he  sent  for 
the  jailor,  and  confessed  his  crime,  with  all  its  circumstances, 
and  told  him  where  the  rifle,  socks,  glass,  balls,  and  a  part 
of  the  arsenic  he  had  procured  for  Mrs.  Whipple  might  be 
found.  The  next  day  he  was  conducted  to  Cherry  Hill  by 
the  constables,  accompanied  by  a  crowd  of  people,  and  showed 
them  the  fragments  of  the  glass  he  had  used  in  his  dreadful 
experiment,  and  the  marks  of  his  bullets,  which  were  cut  out 
of  the  tree  in  his  presence.  The  socks  could  not  be  found. 

Mrs.  Whipple  was  lodged  in  the  same  story  in  jail  with 
Strang,  and  near  him.  By  persuading  the  jailor  to  leave  her 
door  open  to  admit  a  free  circulation  of  air,  she  was  enabled 
to  come  to  the  door  of  Strang?s  apartment  and  converse  with 
him.  She  showed  no  penitence  or  compunction,  but  repri¬ 
manded  her  wretched  tool  for  making  a  confession,  saying  that 
had  he  been  silent  both  might  have  been  acquitted.  Now 
that  the  dreadful  consequences  of  their  mutual  guilt  had  come 
upon  him,  his  feelings  toward  her  were  wholly  changed,  and 
he  desired  nothing  so  much  as  that  she  might  be  convicted 
with  him.  He  hoped  that  in  this  case  the  influence  of  his 
and  her  friends  might  prevail  on  the  governor  to  commute 
their  punishment,  and  save  them  both  from  the  ignominy  of  a 
public  execution.  To  this  effect  as  he  had  destroyed  her 
letters  to  him,  he  endeavoured  to  copy  some  from  memory 
and  endeavoured  to  imitate  her  hand  writing,  but  was  unable. 
He  then  copied  one  of  the  letters  he  had  written  to  her,  and 
gave  it  to  Mr.  Pepper,  with  a  request  that  it  might  be  hidden 
at  Cherry  Hill,  so  that  he  might  direct  a  search  to  be  made 
for  it.  Mr.  Pepper  took  the  letter  without  remark. 

The  next  morning  Mr.  Pepper  and  the  District  Attorney  visit¬ 
ed  the  prisoner.  The  latter  told  him  that  he  must  not  hope  to 
obtain  pardon  or  favor  by  testifying  against  Mrs.  Whipple, 
for  that  he  was  guilty,  and  he,  the  District  Attorney,  would 
be  the  last  person  to  recommend  him  to  mercy. 

Strang  then  resolved  to  have  his  confessions  rejected,  if 


338 


GEORGE  SWEARINGEN. 


possible,  and  to  stand  his  trial.  When  he  was  arraigned  he 
pleaded  not  guilty,  but  all  the  circumstances  we  have  rela¬ 
ted  that  admitted  of  proof  were  proved  against  him,  and  he 
was  convicted.  He  suffered  accordingly. 

No  positive  proof,  beyond  Strang’s  confessions,  could  be 
found  against  Mrs.  Whipple,  and  though  there  was  and  is  no 
doubt  of  her  full  participation  in  the  guilt  of  her  ignorant 
and  miserable  paramour,  she  was  acquitted.  She  .  has  since 
married  again! 

Such  are  the  fruits  of  adultery. 


GEORGE  SWEARINGEN, 

Was  born  in  the  year  eighteen  hundred,  in  Berryville  or 
Battletown,  Frederick  County,  Virginia.  His  father,  beside 
being  a  wealthy  man,  belonged  to  one  of  the  best  families  in 
the  state.  After  attending  school  till  the  twelfth  year  of  his 
life,  young  Swearingen  was  sent  to  the  Academy  at  Battle- 
town,  where  he  comported  himself  to  the  satisfaction  of  his 
superiors,  and  made  considerable  progress  in  polite  learning. 
Nor  was  his  religious  education  neglected:  his  parents  were 
methodists,  and  therefore  procured  for  him  the  instructions 
of  the  most  eminent  preachers  of  that  persuasion. 

At  the  age  of  sixteen  his  father  placed  him  in  the  office  of 
the  clerk  of  the  county,  where  he  remained  six  months,  and 
behaved  so  well  that  on  his  departure  he  obtained  a  certificate 
of  his  ability  and  good  character  from  his  principal.  After 
this  he  remained  a  twelvemonth  in  his  father’s  house,  and 
then  obtained  a  place  in  the  office  of  the  clerk  of  the  Wash¬ 
ington  County  court  in  Hagerstown,  Maryland.  During  the 
fifteen  months  he  remained  there,  he  attended  so  strictly  to 
business,  that  a  pulmonary  disease  was  the  consequence,  and 
he  was  compelled  to  relinquish  the  situation.  His  employer 
was  so  well  pleased  with  Swearingen,  that  he  wrote  a  letter  to 
his  father,  expressing  his  regret  at  losing  his  services. 

He  availed  himself  of  the  time  of  his  illness  to  acquire  a 
knowledge  of  the  law,  and  after  the  restoration  of  his  health 
was  examined  by  the  competent  authorities,  and  obtained  a 
license  to  practise  law  in  Virginia. 


GEORGE  SWEARINGEN. 


339 


Toward  the  end  of  eighteen  hundred  and  twenty-one  he 
became  a  clerk  in  the  office  of  his  uncle,  John  V.  Swearingen, 
who  was  at  that  time  sheriff  of  Washington  county  in  Mary¬ 
land.  Here  he  remained  three  years,  boarding  in  his  uncle’s 
house;  gaining  daily  on  public  esteem  by  his  assiduity  in 
business.  Up  to  this  time  his  character  was  excellent:  He 
was  temperate,  seldom  or  never  profane,  and  not  at  all  addic¬ 
ted  to  the  vices  common  to  young  men  of  his  age.  No  event 
of  any  importance  occurred  to  chequer  his  life,  excepting  his 
marriage,  and  a  previous  attachment  to  a  young  lady,  to 
whom  he  engaged  himself.  He  became  estranged  from  her 
by  the  intermeddling  of  certain  officious  persons,  and  the 
engagement  was  finally  broken  off  by  mutual  consent. 

Ill  eighteen  hundred  and  twenty-three  Mr.  James  Scott  oi 
Cumberland,  brought  his  daughter,  Mary  Scott,  to  Hagers¬ 
town,  in  order  that  she  might  attend  the  schools  in  that  place, 
and  boarded  her  with  Mr.  John  V.  Swearingen,  in  the  same 
house  with  our  hero.  As  she  was  the  child  of  wealthy  parents 
and  of  a  very  respectable  family,  some  of  George  Swearingen’s 
relations  advised  him  to  make  prize  of  her.  Though  he  was 
at  the  time  engaged  to  the  damsel  before  mentioned,  he  deter¬ 
mined  to  follow  their  counsel,  and  paid  his  addresses  to  Miss 
Scott.  When  the  other  engagement  had  been  broken  off  he 
asked  her  in  marriage  of  her  father,  who  gladly  gave  consent, 
and  they  were  married.  Little  did  the  parent  think  that 
what  he  intended  should  contribute  to  her  happiness  and 
respectability  would  soon  prove  her  destruction.  As  for 
Swearingen’s  fault,  though  a  common  one,  it  must  be  pro¬ 
nounced  a  moral  fraud,  practised  on  an  affectionate  and  inex¬ 
perienced  girl.  However,  he  took  her  home  to  his  uncle’s 
house,  where  they  lived  together  harmoniously  till  eighteen 
hundred  and  twenty-five,  when  he  removed  her  to  a  house  of 
his  own. 

For  awhile  Swearingen’s  habits  continued  to  be  regular, 
and  for  if  he  was  not  a  truly  loving  husband,  he  was  at. 
least  a  kind  one.  He  lived  with  her  in  peace,  neither  con¬ 
tradicting,  denying  her  anything,  nor  setting  bounds  to  her 
expenses.  But,  as  she  was  a  thoughtless,  heedless  woman, 
as  might  be  expected  from  her  age,  and  was  constantly 
desiring  to  visit  her  relations  in  Cumberland,  their  harmony 
was  ere  long  interrupted.  It  became  apparent  to  his  neigh¬ 
bours  and  friends,  that  he  would  gladly  have  been  rid  of  her. 

W7hen  they  had  been  married  nearly  two  years,  she,  being 
then  at  her  father’s  house,  gave  him  a  daughter.  Her  own 


340 


GEORGE  SWEARINGEN. 


and  her  child’s  ill  health  kept  her  absent  from  her  husband 
six  months,  during  which  he  more  than  once  transgressed  the 
marriage  law,  according  to  his  own  confession.  At  this  time 
he  began  to  associate  with  lewd  and  lascivious  women,  a  habit 
to  which  he  owed  his  utter  ruin. 

As  yet  these  irregularities  were  covered  with  a  veil  of 
decent  mystery,  and  his  wife  returned  home  with  him,  un¬ 
suspecting.  Shortly  after  her  return  her  father  died  suddenly, 
and  Swearingen  administered  on  the  estate,  at  the  request  of 
his  mother-in-law.  Some  time  after  this,  Mrs.  Scott  sent 
another  of  her  daughters  to  school  in  Hagerstown,  and  con¬ 
fided  her  to  the  care  of  Swearingen.  These  circumstances 
serve  to  prove  that  he  had  the  confidence  of  his  mother-in-law 
up  to  this  time.  In  the  meanwhile,  he  being  a  candidate  for 
the  Sheriffalty,  attended  public  meetings,  visited  private 
houses,  and,  in  short,  used  every  means  to  ensure  his  election. 

In  June,  eighteen  hundred  and  twenty-seven,  while  his  wife 
was  absent  on  a  visit  to  her  mother,  Swearingen  became  ac¬ 
quainted  with  his  infamous  paramour,  the  since  celebrated 
Rachel  Cunningham.  The  prevalent  belief  that  this  woman 
was  exceedingly  beautiful,  well  educated,  and  fascinating  in 
her  manners,  is  unfounded.  She  was  an  ignorant,  vulgar 
prostitute  of  the  lowest  grade,  with  no  other  attraction  than 
a  very  moderate  share  of  personal  beauty.  She  had  had  an 
illegitimate  son  years  before  Swearingen  saw  her,  and  at  the 
time  he  first  knew  her  received  the  visits  of  high  and  low.  It 
seems  strange  that  a  man  of  family,  property  and  respecta¬ 
bility  should  form  an  attachment  to  such  an  object,  but  such 
was  the  case  Such  as  she  was  Swearingen  saw  and  loved 
her. 

He  first  called  at  the  house  where  she  resided  with  her 
brother  to  hire  her  to  wash  and  mend  for  him,  one  of  her  avoca¬ 
tions  being  that  of  laundress.  Soon  after  he  took  her  with 
him  to  a  camp  meeting,  in  a  barouche.  It  seems  he  was  but 
an  indifferent  driver,  for  on  his  return  he  ran  the  vehicle 
against  a ,  stump,  broke  it  in  pieces  and  hurt  his  ignoble 
*  mistress.  About  this  time  her  conduct  became  so  publicly 
scandalous  that  her  landlord  gave  her  notice  to  quit,  of  which 
she  complained  to  Swearingen,  whose  sympathies  were  there¬ 
by  more  strongly  excited  in  her  behalf.  He  furnished  her 
with  the  means  to  hire  a  single  apartment,  where  he  visited 
her  constantly,  supported  and  protected  her.  On  one  oc¬ 
casion  he  severely  horsewhipped  a  negro  woman  for  speaking 
to  her  as  she  deserved. 


GEORGE  SWEARINGEN. 


311 


Bringing  his  wife  back  from  Cumberland,  Swearingen 
upset  the  gig  in  which  they  rode,  over  a  steep  bank  on  Mar¬ 
tin’s  Mountain.  Mrs.  Swearingen  was  thrown  to  a  conside¬ 
rable  distance,  much  bruised,  and  otherwise  sorely  wounded, 
but  her  husband  and  child  suffered  no  injury.  Her  head  struck 
foremost  on  an  oak  stump,  was  deeply  cut,  and  she  bled  pro¬ 
fusely.  For  some  daysA  her  case  was  considered  doubtful. 
However,  neither  she  nor  her  mother  imputed  the  occurrence 
to  design.  They  made  no  complaint:  on  the  contrary,  Mrs. 
Scott  often  solicited  Swearingen  to  give  up  his  pretensions 
to  office,  and  live  near  or  with  her  in  Cumberland.  Mrs. 
Swearingen  continued  to  repose  full  confidence  in  her  spouse, 
insomuch  that  she  gave  him  a  fee  simple  of  her  inheritance, 
in  order  to  enhance  his  credit  and  enable  him  to  procure 
security  for  the  bonds  he  was  about  to  be  obliged  to  give. 

His  own  account  of  the  affair  is  this.  As  they  were  about 
to  descend  Martin’s  Mountain,  they  discerned  a  dark  cloud 
before  them  that  appeared  to  be  surcharged  with  wind.  More¬ 
over,  it  was  drizzling  abo-ut  them.  Things  being  thus,  Mrs. 
Swearingen  desired  her  partner  to  return  to  a  house  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  back,  for  the  sake  of  the  child.  As  he  was  turn¬ 
ing  the  vehicle,  with  its  back  toward  the  precipice,  the  horse 
caught  one  of  the  reins  under  his  tail,  which  caused  him  to 
back.  A  wheel  came  off  and  the  gig  went  over  the  bank :  Swear¬ 
ingen  jumped  out  as  it  fell.  He  immediately  ran  to  see  if 
his  wife  and  child  were  injured,  and  found  Mrs.  Swearingen 
in  the  condition  already  related.  The  child  had  been  received 
and  protected  from  harm  by  some  grape  vines.  The  gig  was 
turned  bottom  upward,  and  the  horse  lay  on  his  back  in  the 
shafts  as  if  dead. 

Mrs.  Swearingen  was  sensible,  and  exclaimed, u  O,  George !” 
Her  husband  first  deposited  their  child  in  a  safe  place,  and 
then,  lest  the  horse  should  injure  his  wife  in  trying  to  rise, 
cut  the  harness  with  his  pocket  knife.  This  done,  the  ani 
mal  rose  and  ran  down  the  hill.  Swearingen  then  ran  with 
the  child  to  the  house  before  mentioned,  and  obtained  assist¬ 
ance  to  carry  his  wife  under  cover. 

This  accident,  if  it  was  an  accident,  afterwards  did  him 
great  prejudice  on  his  trial.  At  the  time,  his  enemies  imput¬ 
ed  it  to  design,  in  order  to  hinder  his  election.  His  connex¬ 
ion  with  Rachel  Cunningham  was  also  made  an  objection  to 
him.  Yet  few  believed  him  capable  of  murder,  and  though  he 
had  several  highly  respectable  competitors,  he  was  elected 
sheriff  by  a  large  majority.  As  for  our  own  opinion,  we  think 


342 


GEORGE  SWEARINGEN. 


the  upsetting  of  the  gig  was  accidental.  He  had  before  upset 
one  whom  he  loved  better  than  his  wife,  and  he  had  no  interest 
to  injure  her.  When  under  sentence  of  death,  he  called  his 
Maker  to  witness  his  innocence  in  the  matter,  though  this, 
alone,  is  not  conclusive.  Besides,  men  do  not  become  har¬ 
dened  in  crime  at  once. 

So  bad  was  Rachel  Cunningham’s  character,  that  even 
Swearingen,  infatuated  as  he  was,  had  no  confidence  in  her. 
When,  in  the  next  winter,  she  was  likely  to  become  a  mother, 
lie  let  her  know  that  he  believed  she  had  been  faithless  to  him. 
Thereupon  she  attempted  suicide,  by  swallowing  a  large  dose 
of  laudanum.  One  of  the  neighbours  informed  Swearingen 
of  it,  and  going  to  the  house  he  found  her  in  an  apparently 
dying  condition.  The  physician  he  called  to  her  relief 
refused  to  attend,  swearing  it  would  be  better  that  she  should 
die,  that  Swearingen  was  insane,  and  that  he,  the  doctor, 
was  too  much  his  friend  to  do  anything  for  her.  The  sher¬ 
iff  then  returned  to  the  house,  forced  open  her  mouth,  and  ad¬ 
ministered  an  emetic  that  saved  her  life. 

His  intercourse  with  this  abominable  woman  led  to  several 
occurrences  which  afterwards  were  brought  in  evidence 
against  him.  Having,  at  her  request,  written  a  letter  for  her 
(she  was  incapable  of  writing  intelligibly  herself)  to  the 
father  of  her  child,  he  heedlessly  signed  his  own  name  to  it. 
Before  the  ink  was  dry,  he  perceived  his  error,  ran  his  finger 
across  the  signature,  to  blot  it;  and  signed  her  name  over  it. 
However,  his  name  was  still  legible  and  the  letter  was  after¬ 
wards  used  to  his  damage,  as  were  several  others  he  wrote 
to  her. 

On  another  occasion,  seeing  some  verses  inscribed  to - 

in  a  newspaper,  he  cut  them  out,  erased  the  name,  substituted 
u  To  Rachel  ”  in  its  place,  and  wrote  “  George  ”  at  the 
bottom.  When  her  effects  were  seized  by  the  sheriff  his 
successor,  these  verses  were  found  in  her  trunk  and  once 
more  found  their  way  into  a  newspaper.  Here  they  are. 

TO  RACHEL. 

i  • 

I ’ve  seen  the  darkened,  waving  cloud 
Curl  o’er  the  sky  at  night ; 

And  still,  beneath  the  mantle  proud 
The  stars  were  dazzling  bright. 

Still  I  can  see  that  lovely  eye 

Though  hid  beneath  the  mantled  sky. 


GEORGE  SWEARINGEN. 


343 


Still  I  can  view  the  smiling  beam 
That  glows  upon  thy  cheek ; 

Those  chidings,  which  so  fearful  seem, 

In  sweetest  friendship  speak. 

They  tell  that  thou  hast  still  a  heart 
That  can  the  sweetest  charm  impart. 

Rachel,  I  swear  no  power  above 
Would  make  my  tongue  deceive, 

Or  make  my  heart  forget  to  love, 

Couldst  thou  my  vows  believe : 

No  power  but  thine  can  rule  my  heart, 

And  from  thy  charms  I  ne’er  can  part 

Ask  of  the  angels  in  the  sky 
If  I  can  change  my  love ; 

The  cherubs  would  in  joy  reply, 

“  His  friendship  cannot  rove  ; 

Believe  his  vows — thou  ne’er  shalt  sigh. 

Nor  tears  fall  from  thine  angel  eye.” 

Rachel,  I  love  but  thee  alone ; 

I  cannot  view  another’s  charms  ; 

That  love  which  I  can  call  my  own 
Is  that  which  fond  affection  warms. 

Then  Lady,  smile  again  in  peace, 

And  let  thy  doubts  and  chidings  cease. 

George. 

Much  cannot  be  justly  said  in  praise  of  this  namby  pamoy, 
but  as  those  lines  which  have  any  meaning  at  all,  happened 
to  coincide  with  Swearingen’s  feelings,  the  whole  pleased  his 
fancy  prodigiously. 

u  George  ”  also  employed  a  painter  to  take  her  likeness, 
but  the  artist,  discovering  the  relative  situation  of  the  parties, 
became  disgusted  and  refused  to  finish  it.  We  have  seen  a 
fac  simile,  and  if  the  outlines,  even,  are  correct,  Rachel 
Cunningham  had  no  more  pretension  to  beauty  than  the  female 
ourang  outang  lately  brought  over.  Indeed  the  ape  is  insult¬ 
ed  by  the  comparison. 

Swearingen’s  attachment  grew  stronger  and  stronger,  not¬ 
withstanding  the  remonstrances  and  entreaties  of  his  almost 
broken-hearted  father,  who  was  at  the  time  dangerously  ill. 
The  old  gentleman  implored  his  lost  son  in  the  name  of 
everything  sacred,  for  the  sake  of  his  reputation,  family, 
friends,  and  self,  to  put  the  wanton  away.  His  advice  was 
disregarded,  and  so  was  that  of  a  committee  of  the  first  men 


344 


GEORGE  SWEARINGEN. 


in  the  county,  among  whom  were  two  of  his  uncles.  They 
sent  for  him,  and  after  a  world  of  useless  advice  informed  him, 
that  for  the  honor  of  the  neighbourhood,  they  would  take 
measures  to  remove  his  harlot,  if  he  continued  recusant.  To 
this  he  replied  that  the  matter  was  in  nowise  connected  with 
his  official  duties  or  obligations,  and  that  they  had  no  right 
to  meddle  with  his  private  affairs.  Howbeit,  he  was  willing 
to  resign  his  office  if  they  were  dissatisfied  with  him.  His 
uncles  persisted  to  remonstrate,  till,  overcome  by  his  feelings, 
he  wept  aloud;  but  all  was  of  no  avail. 

The  intercession  of  Mrs.  Scott  in  her  daughter’s  behalf 
had  no  better  effect.  'When  she  heard  of  Swearingen’s 
illicit  connexion  she  came  to  Hagerstown  and  entreated  him 
to  put  .Rachel  Cunningham  away,  at  the  same  time  saying 
she  had  no  other  reproach  to  make.  She  threatened  to  take 
her  daughter  home  with  her  if  he  refused.  He  made  no 
answer  and  she  did  take  Mrs.  Swearingen  away,  without  op¬ 
position  on  the  part  of  her  husband  or  herself.  In  this,  the 
good  lady  was  certainly  indiscreet,  for  no  one  has  a  right  to 
interfere  between  husband  and  wife  in  any  case  but  that  of 
personal  violence,  but  if  ever  there  was  excuse  for  such  a 
proceeding,  she  had  it. 

By  this  time  the  infamous  cause  of  all  this  trouble  had  re¬ 
moved  to  a  new  house,  that  Swearingen  had  built  expressly 
for  her  reception,  where,  however, Sshe  did  not  remain  long. 
As  soon  as  the  gentleman  who  was  her  next  neighbour  dis¬ 
covered  her  residence,  he  wrote  to  request  her  keeper  to  re¬ 
move  her,  on  account  of  the  bad  example  she  presented  to 
his  daughters.  The  sheriff  promised  to  remove  her,  and  was 
speedily  compelled  to  keep  his  word.  The  mob  being  about 
to  demolish  the  house,  he  took  her  home  to  his, own,  and  kept 
her  there  five  days  for  fear  she  should  be  torn  to  pieces.  She 
was  not  safe,  even  with  him:  the  threat  was  renewed,  and  the 
infatuated  man  procured  weapons;  resolved  to  defend  her  to 
the  last  extremity.  But  by  the  advice  of  a  friend  he  gave 
over  his  desperate  intention,  and  took  her  to  his  father’s 
dwelling,  where  there  were  none  but  servants  at  the  time. 
He  then  went  to  Cumberland  and  told  his  wife  he  had  sent 
her  rival  away,  whereupon  she  joyfully  consented  to  return 
home  with  him. 

He  soon  again  sought  the  foul  embraces  of  the  courtezan. 
Being  advised  by  his  father’s  overseer  to  abandon  her,  he 
promised  to  think  of  it,  and  took  her  to  a  tavern  near 
Charlestown  where  he  left  her,  provided  with  money,  for  some- 


GEORGE  SWEARINGEN. 


345 


time.  During  this  period  she  visited  Charlestown,  and  call¬ 
ing  herself  Mrs.  Swearingen,  was  invited  to  visit  several 
respectable  families.  The  true  Mrs.  Swearingen,  it  should 
be  observed,  had  never  been  in  that  part  of  the  country.  For 
awhile,  the  shameless  played  her  part  well,  calling  Mrs.  Scott 
mother,  and  answering  all  questions  touching  the  family  with 
equal  facility  and  assurance.  At  last  she  was  discovered, 
and  wrote  to  her  dupe,  who  provided  her  with  a  new  lodging, 
whence  she  was  once  more  compelled  to  remove,  at  short 
warning.  In  short,  after  being  obliged  to  remove  her  several 
times  front  place  to  place,  and  being  himself  threatened  with 
public  shame,  he  finally  fixed  her  with  a  person  named* 
Bargdoll,  one  of  his  tenants,  at  a  place  called  the  T evis  F arm ; 
six  miles  from  Hagerstown.  There  he  continued  to  visit  her, 
sometimes  staying  three  or  four  days  together.  He  accounted 
to  his  wife  for  his  absence  by  pretending  official  business. 

In  August,  eighteen  hundred  and  twenty-eight,  Mrs.  Swear¬ 
ingen  visited  her  mother  in  Cumberland.  In  September  her 
husband  went  to  bring  her  home  again.  They  had  necessarily 
to  cross  a  small  stream,  and  there,  it  was  alleged  on  his  trial, 
the  husband  attempted  to  drown  the  wife.  But  as  she  said 
nothing  of  it  to  one  of  her  relations  at  whose  house  they 
lodged  that  night,  and  as  she  showed  no  displeasure,  it  is  pro¬ 
bable  that  such  was  not  the  fact. 

They  travelled  on  horseback,  and  the  next  day  their  road 
brought  them  near  the  Tevis  Farm.  They  were  seen 
approaching  it.  This  was  on  the  eighth  of  September. 

A  man  who  was  conducting  a  drove  of  cattle  from  Hagers¬ 
town  found  Swearingen  sitting  beside  his  wife’s  dead  body, 
with  his  child  in  his  arms,  within  half  a  mile  of  the  house 
where  Rachel  Cunningham  was.  The  sheriff  told  this  per¬ 
son  that  Mrs.  Swearingen  had  been  thrown  from  her  horse, 
and  desired  him  to  keep  on  to  Cresaptown  (which  was  near) 
and  send  one  Robert  Kyle  to  bleed  her.  He  did  so,  and  Kyle 
soon  arrived.  They  got  a  cart,  placed  the  corpse  in  it,  and 
carried  it  to  the  house  of  Mrs.  Cresap,  Swearingen’s  aunt,  in 
Cresaptown.  The  coroner’s  inquest  sat  on  the  body,  and 
finding  that  the  knees  of  the  horse  she  had  ridden  were  cut, 
as  if  by  a  fall,  found  a  verdict  of,  u  came  to  her  death  by  an 
act  of  Providence.” 

While  the  jury  were  sitting,  Swearingen  was  informed  that 
one  of  the  women  had  said  his  wife  had  received  an  internal 
injury,  but  that  the  jury  had  paid  no  attention  to  her.  He 
accompanied  the  funeral  procession  to  Cumberland,  where 

16 


346 


GEORGE  SWEARINGEN. 


the  body  was  interred,  without  exhibiting  compunction  or 
feeling. 

Th^  next  day  violent  suspicions  arose,  founded  on  the  re¬ 
marks  of  the  women  who  had  seen  the  body,  that  the  deceased 
had  come  to  her  death  by  foul  means.  A  Mr.  Reid  proposed  to 
Swearingen  to  have  the  corpse  taken  up  and  examined,  but 
he  refused,  alleging  that  he  was  averse  to  an  indecent  ex¬ 
posure.  He  said,  however,  he  would  consult  Mrs.  Scott, 
but  did  not  do  so.  He  asked  another  person’s  opinion  on  the 
subject,  and  was  advised  to  permit  the  examination.  The 
same  man  told  him  that  Mrs.  Scott  suspected  not  him,  but 
Rachel  Cunningham,  of  having  killed  her  daughter.  His 
brother  consulted  Mrs.  Scott,  at  his  request,  and  returned 
with  the  old  lady’s  declaration  that  rather  than  have  her 
daughter  exposed,  she  would  cause  her  to  be  taken  up  and 
reinterred  in  her  cellar.  They  then  went  together  to  Mr. 
Reid  and  told  him  of  Mrs.  Scott’s  determination.  He  ob¬ 
served  that  it  was  unfortunate  that  Rachel  Cunningham  had 
been  at  Tevis  Farm  when  the  accident  happened.  The 
younger  Swearingen  instantly  replied  that  she  was  not  there, 
and  that  he  defied  any  one  to  prove  it.  He  merely  affirmed 
what  his  brother  had  told  him  and  he  believed.  The  sheriff 
bade  him  hush — and  told  him  that  she  was  there,  but  knew 
nothing  of  the  matter.  He  spoke  incoherently  and  in  con¬ 
fusion. 

The  two  Swearingen’s  then  repaired  to  Mrs.  Scott’s  house, 
while  Mr.  Reid  went  to  summon  a  jury.  The  body  was  dis¬ 
interred  for  dissection,  and  Swearingen  was  invited  to  attend. 
After  the  dissection,  the  surgeons  and  physicians  decided  that, 
from  the  state  of  the  body,  they  could  form  no  opinion  respect¬ 
ing  the  causes  of  her  death. 

Fearing  that  the  suspicions  now  prevalent  would  have 
consequences  dangerous  to  his  chere  amie ,  the  criminal  went 
to  Tevis  Farm  to  take  her  away.  If  his  confession  is  to  be 
believed,  she  said  to  him,  u  George,  why,  in  the  name  of  f 
God,  if  you  had  any  idea  of  killing  Mary,  did  n’t  you  tell 
me?  I  could  have  told  you  better — that  you  could  not  do 
such  a  thing  here  without  beihg  accused  with  it,  especially  as 
I  am  here,  and  so  much  fuss  has  been  made  about  us.”  To 
which  he,  as  he  said,  replied  that  he  would  have  told  her,  if 
he  had  had  any  such  intention,  but  that  his  wife’s  death  had 
been  sudden,  and  unexpected  by  him.  He  then  told  her 
that  Mrs.  S.  had  been  killed  by  an  accidental  fall  from  her 
horse,  s<r  .hat  it  might  not  be  in  her  power  to  become  a 


GEORGE  SWEARINGEN.  347 

witness  against  him.  What  follows  depends  on  better  authority 
than  the  word  of  a  convicted  murderer. 

They  started  before  day,  both  riding  on  the  same  horse, 
intending  to  flee  into  Canada.  They  avoided  every  one  they 
saw  by  turning  into  the  woods,  till  they  came  to  an  old  man, 
of  whom  they  were  not  afraid.  He  told  them  that  the  grand 
jury  had  found  an  indictment  against  both,  and  that  the 
people  of  Cumberland  were  in  quest  of  them.  He  also  told 
them  of  a  by-road  to  Springfield,  by  which  he  thought  they 
might  escape,  and  they  started  again  to  gain  it.  In  the 
evening  they  were  upon  it.  They  soon  arrived  at  a  bridge 
which  they  believed  was  watched,  as  indeed  it  was,  but 
avoided  the  danger  by  striking  into  the  woods,  where  they 
lost  themselves  in  the  darkness.  After  long  trying  in  vain  to 
regain  the  road  they  let  the  horse  take  his  own  way,  which 
brought  them  in  sight  of  Cumberland,  which  they  passed  un¬ 
observed,  and  took  a  road  leading  to  Hagerstown.  At  day¬ 
light  they  turned  into  the  woods,  secured  the  horse,  and  lay 
down  to  sleep  on  a  blanket  they  had  brought  with  them. 

A  minute  detail  of  their  adventures  would  be  entirely  un¬ 
interesting.  They  moved  toward  Kentucky,  Swearingen 
calling  himself  Campbell,  and  his  companion  passing  for  his 
wife.  They  were  often  taken  for  persons  running  from  their 
friends  to  be  married.  When  their  horse  gave  out  they 
exchanged  him  for  two  mean  ponies,  and  went  on  as  fast  as 
they  could.  When  they  started  they  had  but  little  money, 
part  of  which  was  in  eastern  and  part  in  western  bills,  the 
latter  not  in  very  good  repute.  When  their  current  money 
was  spent,  they  had  much  difficulty  to  pass  the  rest,  and 
whenever  any  dispute  on  the  subject  occurred,  they  were 
always  abused  as  runaways.  But  they  were  not  suspected  as 
to  what  they  were.  At  last  they  arrived  in  Kentucky,  and  at 
Elizabethtown  the  sheriff  was  recognised  by  a  man  he  had 
known  in  Hagerstown.  This  person  asked  him  if  his  name 
were  not  Swearingen.  He  answered  in  the  negative,  and 
succeeded  in  convincing  the  fellow  (he  was  a  slave-driver,) 
that  he  was  mistaken.  He  was  again  suspected  in  Owenville, 
but  finally  arrived  safe  among  his  relations  in  the  Green 
River  country.  He  told  them  the  same  story  respecting  his 
wife’s  death  that  he  had  told  his  mistress,  adding  that  as  he 
had  been  suspected  of  murder,  he  had  judged  it  most  prudent 
to  escape.  He  told  them,  too,  that  he  had  since  married 
Rachel  Curiningham.  They  believed,  and  pitied  him,  and  he 
remained  some  time  with  them,  his  Qoncubine  passing  for  his 


348 


GEORGE  SWEARINGEN. 


wife.  He  had  land  there,  and  thought  of  settling  on  it,  and 
probably  would  have  done  so,  but  for  a  piece  of  information 
he  received  from  home. 

He 'had  written  to  his  father  for  money,  and  in  due  time  a 
friend  came  within  fifteen  miles  of  his  place  of  abode,  and 
sent  for  him.  This  person  gave  Swearingen  an  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars,  and  told  him  that  the  governor  of  Maryland  had 
issued  a  proclamation  offering  a  great  reward  for  his  appre¬ 
hension.  He  advised  the  fugitive  to  go  to  Texas  with  all 
speed,  and  recommended,  above  all  things,  that  he  should  not 
take  his  soi  disant  wife  with  him.  Swearingen  could  not 
think  of  deserting  her  and  would  have  preferred  Canada  as  a 
place  of  refuge,  but  his  friend  overruled  him  in  both  points. 

When  the  criminal  was  about  to  depart,  a  scene  took  place 
between  him  and  the  partner  of  his  flight  that  affected  his 
friend  to  tears.  They  wept  and  embraced,  and  could  not 
tear  themselves  apart.  At  last  he  told  her  that  as  she  could 
not  be  happy  without  her  child,  his  friend  should  go  to  Mary¬ 
land  for  it  and  bring  her  and  it  after  him.  She  replied  that 
she  did  not  care  for  the  child,  but  was  willing  to  accompany 
him  without  it.  He  objected  that  the  dknger  of  detection 
would  be  doubled  should  they  travel  together,  bade  her  not 
be  uneasy,  and  promised  not  to  forsake  her  entirely.  He 
gave  her  money,  kissed  her,  and  at  last  they  parted,  his  friend 
accompanying  him  to  Shawneetown. 

At  Shawneetown  this  person  promised  to  take  care  of  the 
woman  and  to  bring  her  child  from  Maryland.  He  was  then 
to  take  them  to  Swearingen,  who  would  wait  for  them  in  New 
Orleans.  To  give  him  more  time  to  do  this,  the  criminal 
embarked  in  an  ark  or  flat  boat,  and  floated  down  stream 
v<  ry  slowly.  He  found  on  board  this  conveyance  a  newspaper 
g.ving  an  account  of  the  murder,  but  as  his  person  was  not 
described,  and  as  he  had  called  himself  Joseph  Martin,  he 
did  not  fear  discovery.  By  doing  a  little  writing  for  the 
owner  of  the  ;^at  he  obtained  his  passage  gratis. 

Immediately  on  his  arrival  in  New  Orleans  h*»  was  seen 
and  recognised,  by  one  Ramsay,  who,  however,  at  first  said 
nothing  to  him.  He  might  have  escaped:  a  schooner  was 
ready  to  convey  emigrants  to  Texas,  and  he  had  engaged  his 
passage,  but  could  not  bear  to  think  of  leaving  Rachel 
Cunningham.  He  preferred  losing  his  passage.  During  this 
time  he  saw  Ramsay  several  times  and  recognised  him,  but 
did  not  suspect  that  he  was  himself  known  to  the  other. 
Finalh  he  became  acquainted  with  a  gentleman  who  had  a 


GEORGE  SWEARINGEN. 


349 


son  settled  in  Texas,  and  succeeded  in  getting  into  his  good 
graces.  This  person  told  him  that’ he  might  get  employment 
as  a  schoolmaster  and  gave  him  a  letter  to  his  son;  whereupon 
he  resolved  to  leave  a  letter  directing  his  intended  how  to 
follow  him,  and  start  alone. 

He  had  taken  lodgings  on  board  a  flat  boat  and  was  wait¬ 
ing  for  an  opportunity  to  depart,  when  one  day  he  saw  a 
number  of  police  officers  approaching;  Ramsay  among  them. 
He  saw  them  go  on  board  another  boat  and  converse  with  a 
man  on  its  deck.  Something  alarmed  at  this,  Swearingen, 
as  soon  as  they  left  the  boat,  slipped  down  the  bank,  and 
passed  along  the  margin  of  the  river  to  speak  with  the  man 
with  whom  they  had  been  conversing.  To  a  question  what 
their  business  had  been,  the  boatman  replied,  u  They  are 
looking  for  a  man  by  the  name  of  Martin.  Is  that  your 
name,  sir?”  The  fugitive  replied,  “  No  sir;  I  thought  they 
wished  to  purchase  some  corn.  We  have  some  in  our  boat 
to  sell.”  With  that  he  returned  and  began  to  get  his  effects 
in  readiness  for  immediate  departure.  While  he  was  so  doing 
he  looked  through  a  crack  and  saw  the  officers  coming.  He 
hastily  threw  himself  into  a  corner  and  covered  himself  with 
his  cloak,  desiring  the  owner  of  the  conveyance  to  tell  any 
one  who  might  inquire  for  him  that  he  wTas  not  there.  Scarce¬ 
ly  had  he  time  to  do  this  before  the  officers  entered  the  boat. 
One  of  them  pulled  the  cloak  off  him,  presented  a  pistol,  and 
bade  him  surrender  on  pain  of  death.  He  knew,  he  said, 
that  his  name  was  Swearingen,  and  he  had  a  warrant  for  him. 
The  other  confessed  his  name  and  surrendered  without  re¬ 
sistance.  He  expected  thus  to  put  them  off  their  guard  and 
render  escape  easier  after  he  should  have  left  the  boat.  They 
took  from  him  a  dr*k,  pistol  and  rifle.  According  to  his  own 
story  he  haa  procured  two  of  these  weapons  for  very  innocent 
purposes.  He  had  bought  the  pistol  in  Maryland  to  defend 
himself  and  Rachel.  The  rifle  he  had  gotten  to  hunt  in 
Texas,  and  he  had  obtained  the  dirk  as  a  makeweight  in 
some  trifling  bargain  on  the  river. 

As  the  officers  were  taking  him  to  the  Mayor’s  office, 
Swearingen  suddenly  attempted  to  break  from  them.  There¬ 
upon  one  of  them  struck  him  a  severe  blow  over  the  eye,  and 
the  wound  bled  freely.  They  then  put  him  into  a  coach  and 
took  him  before  the  mayor  without  farther  difficulty. 

He  admitted  his  name,  and  that  he  was  the  person  indicated 
by  the  proclamation  before  mentioned,  and  requested  to  be 
sent  immediately  to  Maryland  for  trial.  He  was  committed 

16* 


350 


GEORGE  SWEARINGEN. 


to  jail  and  ironed,  and  remained  there  two  months  without 
a  change  of  raiment  and  covered  with  vermin.  As  he  did 
not  hear  anything  of  his  paramour  he  for  a  long  while  thought 
she  must  have  been  taken,  but  a  man  was  at  last  confined  in 
the  same  cell  with  him  who  told  him  she  was  in  New  Orleans. 
On  hearing  this,  he  sent  for  the  jailor  and  advised  him  to 
have  her  taken  too,  that  they  might  be  sent  to  Maryland 
together.  The  officer  informed  the  mayor  of  what  he  had 
heard,  and  the  city  was  searched  for  her,  but  she  was  not  to 
be  found.  The  fact  was  that  the  very  precaution  taken  by 
Swearingen  to  insure  a  meeting  had  caused  him  to  miss  her 
altogether.  The  friend  before  mentioned  (his  brother)  had 
kept  his  word.  Finding  it  impracticable  to  return  to  Mary¬ 
land  for  the  child,  he  had  immediately  taken  its  mother  to 
New  Orleans  in  a  steam  boat,  and  passed  Swearingen  on  the 
way.  Waiting  there  a  long  while  and  hearing  nothing  of 
our  hero,  who  had  not  yet  arrived,  they  returned  to  Louisville. 
There  they  heard  of  his  apprehension. 

The  reason  that  his  brother  was  unable  to  bring  the  child 
from  Maryland  was,  that  another  brother  opposed  it;  for 
what  reason  does  not  appear. 

Afirer  having  been  confined  three  or  four  weeks  Swearingen 
became  melancholy,  and  dropped  some  hints  of  an  intention 
to  destroy  himself.  To  prevent  it  the  keeper  put  him  into  a 
very  small,  close  apartment,  called  the  cache  hole.  Here  he 
was  more  uncomfortable  than  before,  and  when  a  ruffianly 
convict  was  put  into  the  cell  with  him  for  an  assault  on  one 
of  the  officers,  he  wrote  to  the  keeper  to  remonstrate.  He 
was  then  taken  out  and  lodged  in  the  same  room  with  the 
chain  gang  convicts,  who  are  permitted  to  work  abroad  in 
the  city  every  day.  One  of  them  told  him  that  vessels  often 
lay  many  days  in  the  river  before  the  wind  would  suffer  them 
to  depart,  and  offered  him  a  saw  to  cut  his  irons  in  such  an 
interim,  if  it  should  occur.  He  might  gain  the  shore,  the 
convict  said,  by  swimming.  But  he  thought  his  mistress  was 
in  prison  in  Maryland,  and  the  hope  of  seeing  her  overcame 
the  sense  of  danger  and  the  love  of  liberty:  in  a  word,  he 
refused  to  accept  the  implements. 

On  the  sixth  of  April  he  was  conveyed  on  board  the  brig 
Artie,  bound  for  Baltimore.  As  the  Artie  was  actually  detain¬ 
ed  three  days  in  the  river,  he  might  have  escaped  in  the 
way  suggested  by  the  convict.  In  due  time  he  arrived  in 
Baltimore  and  was  conveyed  to  Alleghany  County,  where  he 
was  fully  committed  for  trial. 


GEORGE  SWEARINGEN. 


351 


The  principal  facts  disclosed  in  evidence  on  his  trial  beside 
those  we  have  related,  were  these.  He  had  told  different 
tales  respecting  the  manner  of  his  wife’s  death,  one  of  which 
was  that  Rachel  Cunningham  had  struck  Mrs.  Swearingen 
from  her  horse  and  killed  her.  Tfiis,  he  afterwards  declared, 
was  false.  Another  fact  which  endangered  Rachel,  was,  that 
a  little  before  the  murder  a  woman,  supposed  to  be  her,  pass¬ 
ed  through  the  drove  before  mentioned,  in  a  direction  that 
would,  apparently,  bring  her  to  the  spot  where  the  body  was 
found.  As  for  a  long  time  she  could  not  be  traced,  she 
was  generally  supposed  to  have  been  Rachel.  Howbeit, 
after  Swearingen’s  conviction  she  was  found,  and  proved  to 
be  quite  another  person. 

Several  letters  that  had  passed  between  the  two  principal 
actors  in  the  tragedy  seemed  to  confirm  the  prisoner’s  guilt, 
though  by  themselves,  they  would  have  done  him  little  injury. 
Blood  was  seen  on  his  ruffles  at  the  time  of  the  murder.  He 
explained  this  circumstance  by  stating  that  it  fell  from  his  wife 
as  he  lifted  her  up.  Those  who  saw  the  body  deposed  that  it 
was  bruised  in  several  places,  as  if  by  blows.  .  A  fall  might 
have  accounted  for  all  this  excepting  the  marks  on  her  back, 
as  he  had  stated  that  she  fell- on  her  face.  The  women 
deposed  that  she  had  received  a  severe  internal  injury.  The 
strongest  circumstance  was,  that  Swearingen’s  horse  and  that 
of  his  wife  were  tracked  into  and  out  of  a  thicket  close  to  the 
spot  where  the  body  was  found.  In  the  thicket  a  spot  was 
trampled  and  stained  with  blood,  and  a  club  was  found  at  hand. 

When  Swearingen  was  first  committed  he  consulted  several 
persons  learned  in  the  law,  who  told  him  that  no  jury  would 
convict  him  on  the  evidence.  He  therefore  felt  easy  during 
the  trial,  and  even  wrote  to  his  intended  to  come  back,  as  the 
trial  had  been  favorable  to  him.  He  hoped,  however,  that  she 
had  behaved  well  since  their  separation  and  requested  her  to 
bring  a  certificate  to  that  effect  from  the  person  with  whom 
she  had  been  living.  The  verdict  of  u  Guilty  or  Murder 
in  the  first  degree!”  was  as  the  shock  of  a  thunderbolt  to 
him.  He  shuddered  and  wept  aloud. 

He  wrote  again  to  Rachel.  We  shall  give  her  answer  to 
his  first  letter,  as  it  was  written,  to  a  comma,  to  correct  the 
impression  that  she  was  well  educated  and  accomplished. 

Henderson,  5th  September,  1829 

MY  DEAR. 

I  recieved  your  letter  the  first  of  September  I  was  very 
much  serpriseed  for  I  never  had  heard  A  word  of  you  And 


352 


GEORGE  SWEARINGEN. 


never  expected  to  hear  from  you  Again  it  relieved  me  very 
much  to  hear  from  you  I  seen  great  eal  of  trouble  since  I 
have  seen  you  after  you  left  me  more  than  I  could  explain. 

I  have  had  a  son  since  you  left  me,  three  or  four  months  which 
caused  me  a  great  eal  of  troubel  I  was  A  bout  five  miles  from 
the  yellow  banks  in  the  country  I  am  now  at  hinderson 
I  hired  A  boy  and  went  out  to  see  John  I  have  been  in  louis- 
ville  all  this  summer  at  Mr.  Dillers  I  am  Afraid  that  letter 
you  wrote  to  Mr.  diller  will  ruin  me  for  I  am  Abliege  to  leave 
there  on  the  account  of  that  if  you  had  of  putt  it  in  crisup 
town  the  would  never  been  nothing  mistrusted  I  was  reseeved 
by  evry  person  and  was  taken  in  the  first  company  between 
Frankie  (his  brother)  and  your  aunts  famly  the  was  part  of 
the  money  you  left  me  taken  from  me  Franklin  treated  me 
scandleous  and  threatened  my  life  and  I  believed  if  it  had  not 
been  for  John  he  would  of  struck  me  I  should  be  very  glad 
to  see  you  I  had  got  quite  reconsiled  but  since  I  have  heard 
from  you  I  am  as  unhappy  as  ever  it  my  hope  you  will  get 
through  all  your  troubles  and  come  to  me  to  be  as  happy  as 
ever  you  must  know  I  must  love  you  very  much  or  I  would 
not  have  followed  ofter  you  the  day  I  left  you  I  thought  I 
nevar  should  have  got  over  it  in  the  world  for  it  had  like  to 
have  killed  me  I  am  Afraid  after  you  get  cleare  that  you 
never  will  think  any  more  of  me  you  mentioned  in  your  letter 
that  I  must  come  in  there  but  god  forbid  I  ever  should  for  I 
have  seen  troubel  Anough  without  coming  there  to  see  more 
I  have  caused  my  friends  Anough  trouble  without  my  coming 
in  there  stere  to  it  Afresh  Among  them  I  would  rather  go  three 
thousand  of  miles  further  the  other  way  I  stand  in  need  of 
nothing  at  this  time  I  have  plenty  of  everything  I  have  sufered 
A  great  eal  on  the  account  of  little  James  I  have  thought  A 
thousand  times  I  would  go  in  there  at  the  risk  of  everything  I 
expect  he  has  seen  hard  times  since  I  have  left  him  I  intend  to 
have  him  at  the  risk  of  my  life  let  it  cost  what  it  will  I  expect 
the  people  blames  me  more  than  they  did  you  you  know  and 
god  knows  that  I  am  not  to  blame  that  I  am  as  clear  as  an  angel 
in  heaven  and  now  I  am  Agoing  Away  And  I  dont  know  where 
I  will  go  to  yet  Franklin  is  turned  evry  one  of  your  friends 
Against  you  so  as  they  told  evrything  About  you  they  ever 
heard  or  knowed  Abought  you  every  body  knows  all  About 
it  at  Johns  My  dear  I  neer  can  for  get  you  know  I  have  seen 
hard  times  with  you  you  still  write  to  me  you  are  the  same  but 
J  am  not  the  same  the  has  A  great  alteration  took  place  since 
you  seen  me  John  will  be  in  there  soon  I  wish  wish  you  all 


GEORGE  SWEARINGEV. 


353 


the  luck  this  world  can  Afford  I  am  glad  I  did  not  hear  from 
you  sooner  for  believe  it  would  have  killed  me.  god  bless 
you. 

I  remain  your  dearest  until  deth. 

George  Swearingen. 

Swearingen  received  this  elegant  epistle  a  week  before  his 
execution.  It  had  no  signature  but  he  knew  at  once  whence 
it  came. 

He  slew  his  wife  on  the  eighth  of  September,  eighteen 
hundred  and  twenty-eight,  and  received  sentence  of  death  on 
the  same  day  of  the  same  month,  in  eighteen  hundred  and 
twenty-nine.  After  his  condemnation  the  clergy  visited  him 
and  offered  him  the  pardon  of  our  blessed  Saviour,  and  a  peace 
the  world  cannot  take  away.  His  sin  had  been  great — and 
so,  eventually,  was  his  repentance.  Perhaps  wishing  to  un¬ 
burden  his  conscience — perhaps  wishing  to  leave  as  fair  a 
name  behind  him  as  might  be,  for  the  honor  of  his  family,  he 
procured  his  life  and  confession  to  be  written  by  a  clergyman. 
His  account  of  the  murder  was  as  follows. 

When  he  and  his  wife  came  near  the  road  which  turns  off 
from  the  main  road  to  the  Tevis  Farm,  she  proposed  that  they 
should  go  thither  and  see  their  tenants.  He  observed  that 
they  had  better  call  as  they  came  back,  but  she  insisted  upon 
going  on  the  instant.  Accordingly,  when  they  came  to  the 
turn,  Swearingen,  knowing  that  she  must  needs  see  his 
paramour,  again  tried  to  dissuade  her,  but  she  would  have 
her  own  way,  as  women  sometimes  will.  Her  husband, 
therefore,  dismounted,  and  with  well  assumed  indifference 
began  to  puli  down  the  bars.  Finding  that  she  was  deter¬ 
mined,  he  was  compelled  to  thwart  her,  even  at  the  risk  of 
her  just  displeasure.  He  put  up  the  rails  again,  saying  it 
would  be  as  well  to  call  at  another  time.  Mrs.  Swearingen 
then  said  she  had  heard,  and  her  mother  had  received  a  letter, 
informing  her  that  Rachel  Cunningham  was  at  Tevis  Farm, 
and  that  she  was  resolved  to  go  there  and  see  if  it  was  so. 
She  believed  it,  because  he  refused  to  go  with  her.  As  he 
persisted  in  his  refusal,  she  gave  him  harsh  words,  which 
soon  brought  on  a  hot  quarrel,  and  she  turned  her  horse  into 
the  road,  calling  him  a  deceiver. 

He  took  the  child,  mounted,  and  followed,  while  she  con¬ 
tinued  to  reproach  him,  taxing  him  with  falsehood  and  broken 
faith.  At  last,  boiling  with  passion,  he  pushed  his  horse 
toward  her,  dropped  the  reins,  and  struck  her  on  the  back  of 


354 


GEORGE  SWEARINGEN. 


the  head  with  his  right  hand  with  all  his  might.  She  was 
just  at  the  beginning  of  a  steep  declivity  and  fell  forward  on 
her  forehead  in  the  hard,  flinty  road.  The  horses  did  not 
stop,  and  whether  they  trod  on  her  or  not  he  could  not  say. 

He  dismounted,  and  *saw  with  horror  that  she  was  dead. 
The  cries  of  the  child  increased  his  confusion.  He  knew 
not  what  to  do,  and  was  on  the  point  of  leaving  the  infant 
beside  the  body  and  flying  for  life.  Having  at  last  recovered 
his  presence  of  mind,  he  bethought  him  that  there  was  a 
stony  place  a  little  farther,  and  that  by  taking  the  corpse 
thither,  and  giving  the  alarm;  he  might  give  a  stronger  color 
to  the  supposition  that  she  had  been  killed  by  an  accidental 
fall.  So  he  pacified  the  child  and  threw  the  corpse  across  the 
horse  to  take  it  to  the  stony  place.  Before  he  got  there  he 
saw  the  drove  before  mentioned,  and  was  obliged  to  turn  to  avoid 
being  seen  by  its  conductors.  Ere  he  reached  the  place 
where  Kyle  found  him  with  the  body,  it  fell  off*  three  times. 
In  order  to  corroborate  the  tale  he  intended  to  tell,  he  scarred 
the  knees  of  his  wife’s  horse  with  his  knife.  He  supposed 
the  bruises  found  on  the  body  might  have  been  occasioned 
by  the  several  falls,  or  by  the  rough  motion  of  the  cart  that 
conveyed  it  to  Cresaptown.  As  to  the  appearances  in  the 
wood  he  positively  denied  all  knowledge  of  them,  saying  he 
never  left  the  road.  The  rest  is  already  known  to  the  reader. 
Such  was  his  story,  and  he  persisted  in  it  to  his  last  breath. 
We  again  repeat  that  such  declarations  are  not  entitled  to 
full  credence,  many  having  beon  proved  false,  but  in  so  much 
of  this,  we  see  nothing  that  may  not,  possibly,  be  reconciled 
with  the  testimony. 

He  went  firmly  to  the  gallows,  and  sung  a  psalm  upon  it. 
When  asked  if  he  had  anything  to  say,  he  answered  that  he 
wished  to  have  it  understood  that  he  died  in  peace  with  God 
and  with  all  the  world.  He  had  no  fears,  and  had  no  doubt 
that  his  repentance  would  be  accepted.  The  scene  soon 
closed. 

The  life  of  this  felon  presents  one  more  warning  to  the 
vicious — another  proof  of  the  adage  that  quern  Deas  vidtper- 
dere ,  prius  dementat.  He  came  on  the  stage  of  life  with 
prospects  more  than  commonly  flattering,  with  fame  as  bright 
as  any  of  his  young  compatriots,  but  his  career  has  given 
the  world  a  demonstration  that,  unless  sustained  by  the  grace 
of  God,  no  man  can  stand  long.  It  has  proved  that  the  eye 
of  Providence  watches  the  path  of  everyone,  and  that  the 
very  wisdom  of  the  wicked,  their  deep  laid  plans,  their  active 


SETH  HUDSON  AND  JOSHUA  HOWE.  355 

measures  to  avoid  public  justice,  are  often  made  the  means 
of  divine  vengeance.  In  this  case,  the  tongue  of  a  babbling 
old  woman  proved  more  powerful  than  the  verdict  of  a  legal 
tribunal,  and  so  excited  the  popular  indignation  that  a  second 
inquest  was  held.  When  the  skilful  were  unable  to  judge 
and  gave  such  a  verdict,  as,  probably,  would  have  alone 
cleared  Swearingen,  he  fled  though  no  man  pursued,  frighten¬ 
ed  by  his  own  guilty  conscience.  Far  in  the  west,  and 
almost  beyond  the  reach  of  detection,  his  own  brother  was  the 
instrument  to  bring  him  to  justice.  Swearingen  wished  to  go  to 
Canada  and  take  the  accomplice  of  his  sins  with  him.  His 
brother  dissuaded  him,  and  sent*him  where  he  was  more  like¬ 
ly  to  be  detected.  Again,  another  brother  disturbed  arrange¬ 
ments  which  would  have  insured  his  safety,  and  so  managed 
that  he  did  not  meet  his  harlot  in  New  Orleans.  He  shitted 
from  place  to  place,  waiting  for  her,  till  the  avenger  of  blood 
was  upon  him.  Let  the  midnight  marauder,  the  bloody 
assassin  read  this,  and  remember,  that  while  they  fancy  them¬ 
selves  most  secure  the  all-seeing  eye  overlooks  all,  notes  their 
doings,  while  his  arm  is  uplifted  to  strike. 

We  know  not  what  became  of  .Rachel  Cunningham. 


SETH  HUDSON  AND  JOSHUA  HOWE. 

COMMUNICATED,  BY  JOSHUA  COFFIN,  ESQ, 

These  men  were  brothers-in-law.  Hudson  was  a  man  of 
good  education,  and  a  physician  by  profession.  They  came 
to  Boston  from  New  York,  in  the  year  seventeen  hundred  and 
sixty — and  began  business  in  partnership.  Nothing  is  known 
of  their  previous  history. 

Being  unsuccessful  in  their  undertakings,  they  resolved  to 
obtain  'money  enough  to  enable  them  to  establish  themselves 
in  business  elsewhere,  by  undue  means.  Accordingly,  they 
forged  an  order  on  the  treasury  for  a  considerable  sum,  pre¬ 
sented  it,  received  the  cash,  and  absconded.  They  were 
pursued  and  apprehended,  however,  within  the  limits  of 
Massachusetts,  and  were  indicted  for  forgery,  tried,  convicted, 


356 


SETH  HUDSON  AND  JOSHUA  HOWE. 


and  condemned;  the  one  to  a  public  whipping  and  the  other 
to  exposure  in  the  pillory. 

The  sentence  was  executed  in  State  Street,  in  the  presence 
of  the  multitude.  While  Howe  was  having  his  back  stripped, 
Doctor  Hudson  delivered  the  following  address  to  the  spec¬ 
tators,. 

“  What  means  this  rout,  this  noise,  this  roar  ? 

Did  ye  ne’er  see  a  rogue  before  ? 

Are  villains,  then,  a  sight  so  rare 
Ye  needs  must  press  and  gape  and  stare  ? 

Come  forward  ye,  who  look  so  fine, 

With  gains  as  illy  got  as  mine  ; 

Step  up — you  ’ll  soon  reverse  the  show — 

The  crowd  above — the  few  below ! 

“  Well,  for  my  knavery  here  I  stand 
A  spectacle  to  all  the  land, 

High  elevated  on  the  stage, 

The  greatest  rascal  of  this  age, 

And  for  the  mischief  I  have  done 
Must  put  this  wooden  neckcloth  on. 

“  There  Howe  his  brawny  back  is  stripping, 

Quite  callous  grown  by  frequent  whipping — 

In  vain  ye  wear  your  whipcord  out, 

You  ’ll  ne’er  reform  a  rogue  so  stout ; 

To  make  him  honest,  take  my  word 
You  must  apply  a  bigger  cord. 

“  Now  all  that  see  this  shameful  sight, 

That  ye  may  get  some  profit  by  it, 

Keep  constantly  in  mind,  I  pray, 

The  few  words  that  I  have  to  say : 

Follow  my  steps,  and  you  may  be 
In  time,  perhaps,  advanced  like  me  ; 

Or,  like  my  fellow  laborer  Howe, 

May  get,  perhaps,  a  Post  below. 

/  ' 

After  the  execution  of  the  sentence  the  culprits  were  dis 
charged,  and  what  became  of  them  afterwards  is  unknown. 


THE  END. 


Date  Due 


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